The Zeppelin Destroyer: Being Some Chapters of Secret History

“Just after ten. The whole village should be in bed by then. You go out of the hotel just before the place shuts, and wander up here and watch. Theed, after seeing us off, will jump into the car and come over for you at once. Meanwhile, after the experiment, you can employ your time in connecting up the broken conductor with the bit of wire cable. I’ve left it all ready under the bush.”

“By Jove, Claude!” he said enthusiastically. “I shall be standing there eager to see whether it sparks across when you turn on the current.”

“I shall do so four times – judging the distance at five hundred, one thousand, two thousand, and three thousand yards,” I said. “Then I shall flash you two shorts from the searchlight to show you that I’ve finished. Understand?”

“Quite. Afterwards I shall wait about for Theed to pick me up,” Teddy replied. “I do hope we shall meet with success.”

“We ought. The points of the lightning-conductor should pick up the intense current. We’ve proved the theory on our insulated guys upon the wireless-pole,” I said in confidence. “But, of course, we don’t want to attract too much attention here. So make up some feasible story at the hotel after I’ve left you there.”

Ten minutes later we were in the old-fashioned bar-parlour of the George, where the tables were highly polished by the spilt ale of generations, and where the landlady, a buxom widow in a cap, greeted us courteously.

I stayed for a quarter of an hour, and smoked a cigarette. Then, rising, I said loudly:

“Well – you go over and see about it. Make the best bargain you can. But don’t pay more than ninety to ninety-five. Jack will run over in the car for you sometime this evening.”

And so giving the landlady the idea that my friend was about to go out and do business with some neighbouring farmer, I went out and drove as rapidly as I could back to Holly Farm.

That afternoon I spent with Theed tuning up in the yard, running the dynamo, making tests of the searchlight, manipulating the dual controls, and seeing to my altimeter and other instruments. I intended that, as far as was humanly possible, there should be no hitch of any kind.

Roseye, in her mechanic’s overalls, helped me eagerly. Her small hands, so white and delicate at the Savoy or the Carlton, were now oily and grimy, and across her chin was a smudge of oil, giving her an almost weird and comical appearance.

“Well?” she asked. “And what does it matter, pray? I haven’t my best frock on, nor my newest crêpe-de-chine blouse.”

Yes. She was a real “sport.” She knew as much of aircraft as most pilots in the services, and could effect a repair as well as most of the cigarette-smoking mechanics of the Royal Flying Corps. Women, when they take to flying aeroplanes, are often too daring, and take risks at which men would hesitate. Roseye was an illustration. I had often stood in breathless fear watching her bank in a manner that I should never have dared to, yet she had come to ground lightly as a bird, and hopped out of her seat laughing with the pure joy of living the exhilarating life in the air.

Truly the cobwebs are blown away from the brains and lungs of those who fly. Indeed, it is a chilly proceeding, even when indulged in during the dog days. Motoring without a wind-screen is considered rough by many people, but let them fly an aeroplane at forty miles an hour at 8,000 or 10,000 feet on any day. It is always chilly in the air, and by our thermometer that afternoon we both knew that we should have a cold night-flight.

Beyond the little front garden of the farm, a square ill-kept grass patch, bordered by neglected standard roses, was a big grass-field, while beyond lay the open down sloping away to the valley. At each corner of the field we had already placed big acetylene lights, ready charged, so that after we left, old Theed could light them to show us our landing-place, for a descent at night is always dangerous, especially if there is no landmark and the night be dark.

Through those exciting days of our sojourn at Holly Farm, I, assisted by Teddy and Roseye, had worked night and day attending to every detail. Indeed, at six o’clock that very morning – almost before the grey dawn – I had gone round to these four lamps, the intense white light of which would be visible for many miles, and lit and tested them in order to assure myself that all was in working order.

The afternoon wore on. Mulliner brought us out cups of tea into the yard, for we were far too anxious and busy to think of the afternoon gossip. The days were lengthening, of course, but we found them all too short. This final experiment that we were undertaking would prove whether, after all, we had any effective defence against the terror of the night – or not.

Try how I would, I could not put entirely away from myself the growing suspicion that, if spies had been so watchful, they would now be increasingly eager and ingenious in their endeavour to combat us. Once I laughed at those who told us there were German spies about us – I denounced them as scaremongers. But hard facts, shown to us in black and white, shown to us in prosecutions and actual executions of spies, had convinced me – as they must have convinced every Briton unless he were a pro-German or a lunatic – that dastardly secret agents existed even in the most unsuspected quarters, and that the Invisible Hand had been responsible for many a disaster to the British arms on land and at sea.

Would that Hand still bring disaster upon myself?

Daylight faded – and quickly. The evening was calm and clear, with an orange glow of sunset in the west.

All was in readiness. My machine, with its big dual engines, its searchlight, its dynamo, and that most deadly apparatus contained in the brown deal box, stood in the yard running like clockwork, all its controls in order, every strainer taut, every nut locked, and the wooden petrol-container filled.

All that was required was to wheel it out into the big grass-field and give the propeller a start.

Roseye and I ate a frugal meal alone. Mulliner, who served it, must have commented inwardly upon our unusual silence. We generally chattered merrily. Truth to tell, my mind was just then too full for words. If the test succeeded, then all would be well, and Great Britain could defy the enemy’s Zeppelins. If it failed, I would not only be ruined – for I had borrowed money to reconstruct my machine – but I should know that all my theories had been blown to the winds, and that the enemy’s bombastic threats to set London in flames were no idle ones.

Roseye, reading my thoughts, became also pensive. The hour of our great trial was now at hand.

Even as we sat at table we could hear the quick throb of the engines for a few moments, and then they were cut off. Theed was busy getting everything in order.

Darkness had fallen.

There was scarcely a breath of wind; the stars shone brightly in the steely-blue heavens, and the barometer was steadily rising.

“A splendid night for flying!” I declared, and as Roseye stood with me upon the threshold my arm stole lightly around her waist.

“Yes, dear,” was her reply, as she stood gazing away at the surrounding hills silhouetted against the night sky.

The silence was intense. From the distance, far away from the depth of the opposite valley, came the noise of a train on the main line which ran between London and the sea.

We both looked across the starlight scene, and wondered.

It was only half-past eight, so we went back into the farmer’s best room, and sat before the logs chatting.

In those strenuous days we were seldom alone together. Yet, full well, I knew how she reciprocated my affection, and how her every thought was for my welfare.

Yes. We loved each other truly, and my life would have been one of the most perfect bliss were it not for that gulf of suspicion that had been opened by her inexplicable disappearance. That hour, however, was not the one in which to recall it, so I crushed down its bitter memory. Roseye was mine – and mine alone.

“You really want to go up with me to-night, darling?” I asked, as I again sat beside her upon the frayed old couch before the big blazing fire. “You are not afraid?”

“I fear nothing, Claude, when I am with you,” she replied, raising her big blue eyes to mine. And then my lips met hers in a long, rapturous caress.

In the dim light of the cheap paraffin lamp upon the table I saw that her expression was one of complete trust and devoted affection. How could I doubt her further?

And yet the motive of her absolute refusal to tell me the truth concerning where she had been was veiled in mystery. It was an enigma that had puzzled me to distraction.

“Remember, darling,” I said, “you have never before flown at night. We have no landmarks, and can only guide by the compass. Towns and villages which, in normal times, can be easily identified, are now blotted out by the lighting regulations, and even when we find our church spire, our landing-place here may be difficult to discover.”

“But it will be lighted, and we shall see it,” she said. “If we steer by the compass for Stockhurst, Teddy – hearing our approach – will show us flashes from his lamp.”

“I hope so. He’s had a weary job I expect in that dead-alive place all day,” I laughed.

“No doubt. But by this time he’s active enough,” she replied.

And then we both lit cigarettes, for she was very fond of my own particular brand – one that I had found in the ward-room of one of our battle-cruisers before the war, and had always smoked since.

The cheap American clock upon a side table crept slowly on. Both of us were impatient. We waited still half-past nine, when Theed came in to report that all was in readiness. Would I help to wheel out the machine into the grass-field, he asked.

This I did. The three of us, including Roseye, put out the monoplane into position, pointing eastwards away from the trees, and facing the valley where, in the bright starlight, we saw that a faint grey mist was now rising.

Afterwards we returned into the farm-house and I helped Roseye into her flying-suit, with its strapped wind-cuffs and wide belt. She loosened her wealth of hair and, twisting it up deftly, without pins, placed it beneath her leather helmet, after which she stuffed her padded gloves into her pocket.

“It’s going to be cold,” I said. “I hope you’re warm enough, darling?” I asked anxiously.

“Quite,” she assured me. “My suit is wind-proof.”

Very quickly I also got into my kit – a kit I had used for months, because in an experiment of that sort one wants to be hampered with nothing new. Then, when we were both ready for the flight, we went into the field and, climbing into our seats, buckled the straps across us.

Theed junior and his father were attending to us, the former being at the propeller and in readiness.

“As soon as we’ve gone, jump into the car and go out for Mr Ashton,” I said to the younger man. “You’ll find him somewhere near Stockhurst church.” He knew the road, for he had gone over it on the previous day in order to explore.

“Right, sir! I’ll get away at once and leave father to light the flares for landing,” was his reply.

Then, one after the other, I made tests. First, I ran the engine, then I switched on the small light which showed our compass, the map in its celluloid cover, the altimeter, and the other instruments ranged before me. Afterwards I switched on the searchlight which for a few seconds shot a white beam of intense brilliancy towards the sky.

Having proved to my satisfaction that both engines the and dynamo were working well, I shouted the word to Theed.

In a few seconds there was a sudden throb of the engine which instantly developed into such a roar that to speak to Roseye at my side became quite impossible.

We shot forward into the darkness, a sharp gust of wind struck our faces, we bumped for a few seconds along the ground, and then left the earth, the noise of the powerful engines almost splitting the drums of our ears.

I saw before me a belt of trees and, pulling over the lever, rose above them, described a semicircle, and then, watching my compass, rose at once and headed for Stockhurst church, where I knew Teddy was anxiously awaiting our arrival.

I know that Roseye, with the icy wind cutting her eyes, lowered her goggles, but after that I fear I became too occupied to notice anything further.

It was a wild night-flight, and I knew that both our lives were now in jeopardy.

Chapter Eighteen

The Tri-Coloured Rings

Almost as soon as we rose we saw straight before us a beam of reddish light moving swiftly northward in the direction of London.

For a few seconds it was shut off, shone out again, and then went out. I knew it to be from a railway engine, the stoker of which had been firing up. Moving trains, notwithstanding the pulling down of carriage-blinds, and the darkening of railway platforms so that persons break their legs in descending, or getting out at a supposed platform and falling upon the line, form the best guides for aircraft at night. By following an express locomotive, which must be stoked at frequent intervals, and looking out for the coloured signal-lights along the line, an airman can always reach the London area. I had, when night-flying at Hendon before the war, often guided myself home by following an up-express.

So terrific was the roar of my new engine that I could only communicate with Roseye by signs.

I pointed at the moving train and, understanding my gesture, she nodded.

As we rose higher and yet higher into the calm starlit sky, the earth beneath us became increasingly mysterious and misty. Here and there dim lights showed, single lights of scattered cottages unseen by rural constables, or improperly obscured lights from the larger houses.

Soon some red and green lights showed away on our left, and I knew that in the valley there ran the main railway line to London.

By day, at an altitude of 2,500 feet, the whole surface of the earth appears perfectly flat, hills and valleys seeming to be on the same level. Therein lies one of the dangers of aerial navigation. The contour of the earth is quite indistinguishable when one is half a mile high, therefore the altimeter is not of very great use – and more especially so at night. The instrument only records the number of feet above sea-level, and not above the earth. Thus, a pilot flying by night can very easily pass over a valley and suddenly find himself encountering a range of high hills with a fatal belt of trees or row of houses.

Such is exactly what happened to us on that memorable night. We crossed the valley, and as I steered straight by compass in the direction of Stockhurst at about thirty miles an hour, I had dipped and of a sudden I found myself nearing a dark, high hill. Just in time I shot up and cleared, I believe only by inches, the roof of a house.

Roseye was quick to notice our sudden ascent and how we skimmed over the house and the trees of somebody’s park as we kept our rather zigzag course.

A clever writer upon aeroplanes has, with much truth, pointed out that the natural course of a machine is never a direct one, and if a line could be drawn between two given points it would be found that first it veered slightly to the left of this line, then gradually worked back to the true direction, afterwards heading off to the right and again returning. Thus the true course is in the form of a continuous series of left and right-hand semicircles.

These eccentric semicircles we were making with the engine running like clockwork. There were few clouds and, therefore, the chance of a nasty “nose-dive” was not to be apprehended. Once a machine gets into clouds it behaves like a ship in a stormy sea, and clouds can easily be met with after height of three thousand feet.

After passing over the hill I dropped again to 2,000 feet, that being the best height to fly on a crosscountry journey. There now opened out to our view a quantity of lights, among which were the red glare of a furnace, and a long row of small lights which evidently marked the main street of some little town in defiance of the “order.”

I planed down till I could clearly see the obscured lights of a railway station, and by my map, over which my little four-volt lamp was shining, I decided it to be Uckfield. I therefore realised that I was bearing too far south and, further, just at that moment I had a “bump” – as we call it – or rather I ran into a patch of rarefied air which caused the machine to plunge heavily and tilt.

Righting her, I rose again rapidly to 3,000 feet to get out of the danger-zone and, turning east, discerned in the darkness below me yet another cluster of lights which I approached rapidly, having decided that it must be Buxted.

Still steering south-east I could see, away on my left in the far distance, a number of scattered lights in a long line, denoting where Hastings and St. Leonards lay. Beyond those lights, away upon the dark sea, showed the long beam of a ship’s searchlight moving slowly in an are in the Channel.

Roseye, seated beside me, touched my arm and pointed to it. Again I nodded in response.

By the map I saw we were now approaching that high ridge which stretches from Heathfield across to Burwash, the ridge which overlooks Hailsham and the Pevensey Levels. My altimeter then showed 2,800 feet and all went well for ten minutes, or so, until just as I approached the railway line near Heathfield, we became suddenly blinded by the white beam of a searchlight from below.

Roseye put up both hands to her eyes, but I bent my head and kept on my course.

I saw her put out her hand as though to turn our own searchlight downwards and gripped her wrist, preventing her.

I knew that our approach had been heard by the anti-aircraft listening-post on Brightling Beacon, and that, having picked us up, they would see the tri-coloured rings beneath my planes. Truly it was fortunate that I had had them painted there, for I knew that upon the Beacon they had a very useful anti-aircraft gun.

Beneath my breath, however, I cursed the men with that searchlight for, following us, it blinded us. My first impulse was to turn away from it but, next instant, I realised that to do so might arouse suspicion below and they might open fire. Therefore I kept on though, so intense was the glare, that I could see nothing of my instruments before me, and Roseye sat with her gloved hands covering her face.

As suddenly as it had opened upon us, the light was shut off. The naval gunners on duty below had evidently satisfied themselves that we were not enemies, and therefore, finding myself too far south for Mayfield, I made a semicircle until I again came across a railway line going north. I decided that if I followed it I must find Mayfield station.

It struck me that already Teddy must be hearing my approach. My luminous wrist-watch showed it to be now past ten. Curious how very quickly time passes in the air if there is but little wind, and one’s engine is running well. It only seemed as though we had left Holly Farm a few minutes before. Since we had left I had spoken no word with my well-beloved, the roar of the exhaust and the shrill whistling of the icy wind preventing conversation. Yet I could see her well-wrapped-up figure silhouetted against the sky as, seated alert and watchful, she was now on the look out for Teddy’s signal.

That we were flying far too high I suddenly realised, therefore I planed down to about 900 feet, and at that altitude we sailed over Mayfield which was, however, in complete darkness, save for a cycle travelling along its main street, and a couple of lights at the station whither the green and red signals had guided us. Passing Mayfield I still descended to 600 feet, and then again circled round, but neither of us could discern any flashing signal.

Teddy had with him a strong electric torch, and we had arranged that he should give me a number of “shorts” followed by a number of “longs” in order to tell me that all was clear.

But we could discern no signal!

Still lower I descended and circled about until I had actually picked out the pointed spire of Stockhurst church.

Yet there was still no sign.

Roseye saw how puzzled I had become, and extended her palms to denote dismay. What could have gone wrong? Where was the hitch?

Back I turned over Mayfield again, and once more took certain bearings, for night-flying is always fraught with many difficulties, and one can so very easily get lost. I consulted both map and compass very carefully, satisfying myself at last that I had made no mistake.

I had certainly picked up Stockhurst. But where was the agreed sign?

Something surely must have happened! Why did not Teddy show us his light?

The time was quite correct. We were only ten minutes late. I knew my friend too well to put his silence down to mere forgetfulness.

No. Something had happened!

Both of us strained our eyes into that black, cavernous space below, as we hovered in mid-air full of hesitation and perplexity.

There was but one thing to do, namely, to make our way back, for a landing there was quite impossible, scarcely anything being distinguishable save a small winding stream. Besides, I was without knowledge as to whether the wind had changed since I had left the farm. It probably had.

Suddenly, flying as low as I really dared, I struck out a little to the south making a complete circle of Stockhurst, but avoiding Mayfield. I had no desire to rouse the town again by the noise of my exhaust, for in those days of Zeppelin peril the throb of aircraft engines was always alarming, and more especially at night.

Three times did I circle round, but failed to attract Teddy’s attention.

Suddenly Roseye nudged me and pointed eagerly down to the left. Her quick eyes had detected a tiny white light showing, which looked like short and long sparks.

My heart gave a bound. Yes, it was Teddy!

Yet we were now so high again, to avoid the surrounding hills, that his flash-lamp only looked a tiny point of light.

He flashed some message in Morse, but I only got a few letters.

Would he repeat it? We both watched breathlessly, as I headed the machine in his direction.

Yes!

Again the light spoke in the “longs” and “shorts” of the Morse code, which both Roseye and I could understand.

Together we read it.

“Return in an hour,” he signalled.

Why? I wondered. What could have occurred?

Somehow, by the appearance of his light, I thought he must be signalling in secret, and not in the open.

He would expect some acknowledgment from me, telling him that I understood.

Therefore I elevated our searchlight so as to shine upward, instead of below. Then, touching the lever, a long beam of white light shot skyward for a second.

Afterwards I shut it off, and made straight away due southward by the compass, greatly puzzled.

What could possibly have happened?

Chapter Nineteen

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 recognised 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.