Dastral of the Flying Corps

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

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

"No. The Commander of the fort says there are several enemy submarines in the Channel, and requests us to keep a sharp look-out for 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 with that, Dastral jammed over the controls again, and did a neat nose dive of two thousand feet, looping the loop once or twice just to express his joy, and give vent to his feelings.

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

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

"East-south-east, Dastral! That's the course till we sight the opposite shore," shouted Jock to his comrade, who, he thought, in his excitement 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 was hid as yet in the morning mist. Then the course was altered slightly once again, in order to make a proper landfall on the other side.

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

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

A string of mine-sweepers were stretched out below them now. They could see them distinctly, could see even the long nets that trailed between them, for the sun was gaining power and the morning mists were rolling away. The grey expanse of water took on another hue, changing from a dull grey to a greenish tint, with patches here and there of deep blue, where the water deepened, or the surface of the mirror 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 even to the bed of the sea; but as yet they saw nothing, save an occasional piece of wreckage, which had probably detached itself and floated from the treacherous Goodwins, away to the eastward and the northward–those treacherous shoals which hold the remains of so many gallant barques and vessels, from the Roman galley to the modern liner.

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

"Starboard bow, Dastral! Look at 'em! What are they? Not mines, surely. Look like porpoises, only they're not dark enough, and they don'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 was standing 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-line of the aeroplane.

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

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

"Snakes alive! So they are. Now I can make them out quite plainly; I can 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 thousand tonner, and her cargo's worth a couple of hundred thousand. She'll be right on the string of mines directly, and then–gee whiz!–there'll be fireworks, and another valuable cargo will have gone to Davy Jones' locker."

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

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

It was his duty, therefore, to save the men, and, if possible, salve the aeroplane also. Dastral saw the signal through his glasses, and watched the vessel cast off her nets to come up. His immediate concern, therefore, was for the tramp steamer surging up Channel, and nearing the end of her long voyage from Valparaiso to London. At all costs to the aeroplane, she must be saved from the deadly mines towards which she was now heading directly. The tide was with her, and she was coming up rapidly. In another five minutes she would be in the cunningly laid trap.

For the moment, Dastral continued to circle over the mine bed, hoping thereby to warn off the tramp. Of this she appeared to take no notice, though undoubtedly a score of eyes were watching his gymnastic 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 and fired off half a drum of ammunition.

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

"Is she fitted with wireless?" yelled Dastral.

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

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

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

"M I N E S!!!"

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

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

"Heavens! It's too late!" gasped the pilot, as he saw the steamer's bows 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 the sudden commotion on board.

Suddenly, out of the wireless room, the operator, evidently carrying the message, dashed up the companion way to the bridge, flourishing a piece 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 the mine-sweeper coming up on the starboard bow was also flying the signal for her to heave to.

Dashing to the wheelhouse door, a few paces away from where he had been 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 deadly mines was within two feet of her stern, and the wash from her screw and the rapid movement of her rudder as she came round, caused the nearest mine to come into contact with a piece of wreckage, at which there was a terrific roar, and a huge column of water was lifted up and hurled some two hundred feet into the air.

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

The tramp steamer received fifty tons of water upon her decks, but save for a slight starting of the plates in her stern, she was untouched. Nevertheless, she had to keep the pumps constantly in use for the remainder of her voyage.

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