Part 12 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXVI.

--”WELL PLAYED, SIR!”

Water poured into the open doors and windows and through the charred and torn stern of the nacelle.

The aluminium envelope, not built to withstand abnormal stress, began buckling amids.h.i.+ps. Tension wires, no longer in tension but in compression, were spreading in all directions as the huge gas-bag settled down upon the already foundering nacelle.

Every one of the crew realised the danger of being entangled in the wreckage. In a trice the water was dotted with heads and shoulders of life-belted swimmers as the crew struck out to get clear of the sinking airs.h.i.+p, and presently Fosterd.y.k.e was surrounded by a little mob of undaunted men.

”Thank heaven!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the baronet, after a hasty count. ”None missing. Keep together, lads, there's a vessel bearing down on us.”

Not one but four craft were hastening to the rescue. Amongst these was the T.B.D. Zeebrugge, which, eighteen days previously, had gone to search for the derelict ”Golden Hind” and had placed Sir Reginald Fosterd.y.k.e on board.

Fortunately the water was warm, and in spite of a fairly high sea running the late crew of the ”Golden Hind” were taken aboard the destroyer.

Fosterd.y.k.e and the others, declining to go below, stood on deck and watched the end of the airs.h.i.+p that had taken them safely for nearly twenty-eight thousand miles, to perish within five miles of the Rock of Gibraltar, her official starting-point.

The end was not long delayed. The buckling of the aluminium envelope resulted in ballonet after ballonet collapsing under the pressure of water. The fuselage had already disappeared. Bow and stern, nearly four hundred feet apart, reared themselves high in the air; then, with a terrific rush of mingled brodium and air that caused a seething cauldron around each of the extremities of the envelope, the last of the ”Golden Hind” sank beneath the waves.

”Rough luck losing such a fine airs.h.i.+p,” commiserated the Lieut.-Commander of the destroyer.

”It is,” agreed Fosterd.y.k.e, feelingly. ”Especially as she is my own design and I superintended every bit of her construction. It was a pity, too, we didn't hang on for another half an hour. I'd have jockeyed her over the Rock somehow.”

”It was a brilliant achievement, Sir Reginald,” said the naval officer. ”Every sportsman will sympathise with you, but I'm sure they'll shout: 'Well played, sir!'”

”Any news of the other compet.i.tors?” asked Peter.

”Yes. Commodore Nye, the Yankee, is still stranded in Australia, but I suppose you know that. Count Hyas.h.i.+, the j.a.p, crashed somewhere near Saigon. He, too, was almost home.”

”Jolly hard lines,” murmured Kenyon, sympathetically. ”Was he hurt?”