CHAPTER VII
A DUEL WITH WORDS
Gadget's activities, however, were not confined merely to the duties of cabin boy, although his diminutive size and his rapidity of movement made him very useful in that capacity. To fetch and carry for the skipper or chief officer along that 670 feet of keel corridor was to him a life of sparkle and animation. But, when no particular duty called him, the pulsating mechanism of that mighty leviathan irresistibly attracted him.
His round, closely cropped, well shaped head, and his roguish little face, would suddenly appear in the wireless cabin or in one of the four gondolas, where the powerful Sunbeam-Maori engines drove the whirling propellers.
Ship's mascot and general favourite though he was, his sharp wits soon enabled him to make himself almost indispensable. At length, however, the everlasting call seemed to be–
"Gadget! Gadget! Where is the little rascal? What mischief is he up to now?"
For it must be admitted that the overwhelming curiosity of the urchin sometimes got him into trouble. In this respect he had particularly fallen foul of Morgan, the third engineer, a short, stout, somewhat stumpy type of Welshman, whose spell of duty generally confined his activities to the care of the twin-engines in the rear gondola.
It appears that Gadget had unwittingly broken the rules and regulations of the airship by smuggling two parcels of tobacco aboard during a brief stay in one of the air ports. He knew full well that a little fortune awaited the man who could unload smuggled tobacco down the Whitechapel Road, and the temptation had been too great for him. He had been discovered, however, and the captain had punished him for the offence.
Now, Gadget was still smarting under this punishment when one day he startled the third engineer by his sudden and unlooked for appearance in the rear gondola.
"How now, you little rascal!" exclaimed Morgan, throwing a greasy rag at the boy. "How much did you make on that tobacco?"
"Stop smokin' on dooty, will yer, an' mind yer own bisness!" rasped out the urchin, feeling that both his dignity and importance were being imperilled by this reference to his recent offence.
"Go away!" snarled the bad-tempered Welshman, surreptitiously hiding the still smoking cigarette.
"Yah! Why don't yer get more 'revs' out o' those rear engines?" yapped the insulting little Cockney boy, repeating a few words used by the captain himself the day before, and preparing to beat a hasty retreat through the doorway.
"You dirty ragamuffin!" shouted the stout man, flushing with anger, and hurling the oil can, which he held in his hand, at the gamin.
For one instant the tantalising little street arab disappeared on the other side of the door, but, when the missile had spent its force, and had crumpled up against the panelling, leaving a pool of oil on the floor, the urchin's head reappeared once more. The opportunity was too good to be lost. All the vivacity of the boy was pitted against the hot tempered Welshman, and Gadget was a master of invective, and had a wonderful command of high sounding words, the real meaning of which, however, he did not properly understand. But he was just dying for another of these encounters, so common in his experience of things down Stepney way, or along the West India Dock Road.
"Call yerself an ingineer?" came the next gibe from the saucy, impudent little face, now distorted into something grotesque and ugly. "We'll be two hours late at Cairo, an' all because you ain't fit to stoke a donkey-ingine."
"Ger-r-r-o-u-t!" shouted the angry man, making a rush for his tormentor. "I'll break your head if you come in here again!"
"I'd like ter see yer!" came the tart reply, ten seconds later, as the head reappeared once again, for Gadget had retreated swiftly some way down the keel corridor, as his opponent made for him with a huge spanner.
The engineer had determined to lock the door of the little engine-room against the little stinging gad-fly, but of course the sharp-witted rascal had outwitted, or "spike-bozzled" him, as they say in the Air Force, by snatching the key and locking the communication-door on the outer side.
Morgan was beginning to find out to his cost that it was a very unwise proceeding to cross the path of this pertinacious stowaway. He could not get rid of him, and this morning, after the skipper's recent remarks, he was trying to recover his lost reputation by extra attention to his engines. Besides, the captain would be along on his rounds again soon, and, if the engines were not doing their accustomed revolutions, there might be trouble.
Thinking he had now got rid of his tormentor, Morgan turned to examine his engines, when the key turned softly in the lock once more, and the irrepressible mascot, peering through the slightly open door, grinned, and then gave vent to the one word, which means so much:–
"Spike-bozzled! Yah!"
"You're a little villain!" roared the engineer.
"You're an incubus!" retorted Gadget.
"Go away!"
"Swollen head, that's what you've got!"
"By St. David, if I catch you, I'll–" cried the now exasperated Welshman.
"Abnormal circumference–distended stummick, that's what you're sufferin' from. The capten says so!" replied Gadget as a parting shot.
This ungentle reference to his personal symmetry was too much for the engineer, and he made another wild rush in the direction of his opponent. This time, Gadget had no opportunity to lock the door, but, turning round, he bolted precipitately down the long keel corridor, cannoning into the chief officer, who was just coming along to the rear gondola, and receiving a somewhat violent cuff on the head from that dignified official, whose gravity had been gravely endangered by this sudden encounter.
"Here, you little rascal, take that!" cried the angry officer, and Gadget, glad to get away on such slight terms, and feeling that he had given his opponent value for his money, scampered off, and made his way to the wireless cabin.
Here he assumed immediately an attitude of respectful attention, and even prevailed on the officer in charge to give him another lesson on the Morse code, for the urchin had a wonderful range of feeling which enabled him at a moment's notice to adapt himself to the circumstances of his environment.
"Wonderful, Gadget! You're making rapid progress. You shall have a lesson in taking down messages, to-morrow. You have the making of a good wireless operator in you. I shall speak to the captain about it."
"Thank you, sir," replied the gamin, pulling his lock of hair by way of salute. This lock of hair, by the way, at the urchin's special request, had been left there, when the famous "R. D. clippers" had shorn off the rest of the crop, when the airship's barber had overhauled and close-reefed him, soon after his first encounter with the captain.
Gadget's next visit was to the little photographic cabin, where the wonderful negatives and bioscope films were carefully prepared. These were to record to the world at large the wonderful panorama of the earth and sky, photographed from the great air-liner on her wonderful trip.
Here, again, by his artful, winning way, which Gadget knew how to adopt when circumstances demanded it, the little urchin was on good terms with the photographic officer. The latter, who admired the boy's character and wit, and pitied his upbringing, had declared more than once that Gadget possessed in a large degree that intuitive genius which belongs to greatness, and prophesied a brilliant future for the neglected boy, if only he could be properly trained.
"Come to me for an hour a day, Gadget, when the captain does not require your services, and I will teach you photography. Some day you shall have a camera of your own, and who knows, you may become a great film operator." And the grateful boy was only too quick to learn what these skilful operators had to teach.
So, into this new life of adventure and travel, this little urchin entered with all the zest and enthusiasm of which he was capable, making many friends, and an occasional enemy. And all the while the great airship, glistening in the tropical sun, sailed on across the wide stretch of desert which lies between India and Egypt, along the line of the thirtieth parallel.
CHAPTER VIII
SONS OF THE DESERT
The tropical sun looked fiercely down upon the burning sands of the Hamadian Desert. North, south, east and west, as far as the eye could reach, in every direction, the illimitable waste of desert stretched, save only at one pleasant, fertile spot, where a cluster of date and lofty palm trees fringed the banks of a silent pool.
A small encampment of Bedouins, sons of the desert, fierce-looking and proud, occupied this charming spot. Three small tents and a larger one, a camouflaged fabric, part of the loot of the garrison of Kut, completed the camp. There were a dozen men all told, and as many noble, fiery Arab steeds. The men were well armed, with modern weapons, too. There had been too much loot in the Mesopotamian campaign during recent years for the Arab sheik and his followers to find much difficulty in securing the very pick of European weapons, ammunition and equipment. But one thing was evident–all these men were not real sons of the desert. Three of them at least were Europeans, as the reader will shortly perceive.
An atmosphere of subdued excitement, primed with expectancy, seemed to pervade the camp. The whole party were eagerly watching and waiting for something. But what caravan, with its tinkling bells, its camels and spices, its rich silks and ladings from Persia or from Damascus had awakened the predatory instincts of these kings of the desert? Besides, were they not too few in number to engage a well-armed band of Baghdad merchants?
Nay, it was no rich argosy of the desert that these fierce men expected; their eyes were directed one and all towards the skies, for the days had now arrived of which the poet spoke, when he
"Saw the heavens filled with commerce,
Argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight,
Dropping down with costly bales;"
and they were awaiting, with evil intent, the passing of the Aerial Mail, which they knew to be carrying vast treasures of gold and other precious things from India to Cairo and Europe.
The three Europeans who had collected and organised these robber chiefs, by appealing to their hereditary instincts, were none other than our friends, Rittmeister von Spitzer, and his companions Carl and Max, the German irreconcilables, whom we left in the dark shadows of the Schwarzwald preparing for their adventure.
Already they had made a name greater than Muller of the Emden, but they had made themselves outlaws of the nations of the world, and though for a little while success and fame might attend them, yet they knew that sooner or later the agreed price of their adventure would be death.
"What news of the British air-liner, Max?" called von Spitzer, as his subordinate descended by a rope ladder from one of the smaller trees, where an observation post had been fixed, and an aerial mounted, for the purposes of wireless telegraphy and telephony.
"She left Delhi at mid-day yesterday, sir," replied the operator, unclamping the receivers which till now had been fixed over his ears.
"Then she's running to scheduled time?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was it the official departure message that you tapped?"
"It must have been, Rittmeister, for it announced that a distinguished passenger had joined her at the last moment."
"Indeed! What was his name? Did you discover it?" asked the flight-commander, who, to maintain his influence over the wild sons of the desert, was wearing the loose, flowing robes of an Arab sheik, richly emblazoned and adorned.
"His name was the Maharajah of Bangalore," replied Max, the erstwhile Gotha pilot.
"What! the miscreant! He was the man who raised thirty thousand Indian troops for the Mesopotamian campaign, and made it possible for the British to advance on Baghdad after their disaster at Kut."
"That accounts for it. He is to be decorated at St. James's Palace for some eminent services he has rendered to the British Government."
"We're in luck's way, Max. I may spare his life, as I do not seek to take any man's life who does not oppose me. But it's a thousand to one he's carrying his jewels and his household gods with him; it is the custom of these eastern potentates. I will strip him as the locust strips the vine. I will give his jewels to these brave Arabs; it will confirm my hold upon them. We may need their help upon another occasion. But, this is by the way, was there anything from the professor?"
"Only this, Rittmeister; I have waited since dawn for it," and the operator handed to Spitzer a cryptic message of seven letters, which, to the receiver at least was quite unintelligible. Max had pencilled it down as follows:–"X–G–P–C–V–S–M," for it had come through the ether by wireless telegraphy and not by wireless telephone, like the first message. The reason was obvious. One message was for public intelligence and for use in the newspapers, and the other was for more secret and sinister purposes. The cryptogram had come from the professor, who, with his mechanic, had been left behind in the Schwarzwald to collect information for the brigands, and to obtain further supplies of uranis for the Scorpion.
The Rittmeister eagerly grasped the little strip of paper on which the message was written, and retired to the small hangar where the Scorpion was pegged down and stowed away, remarking:–
"This is evidently urgent; I must get the cipher-key and decode it at once. Meantime, I want you to rehearse the men in the parts they are to play, and give Carl a hand with the vibration drum. The great liner is almost due. You may tell the sheik that in addition to the large cargo of gold which the airship carries, an Indian Prince with jewels worth a king's ransom is on board."
"Your orders shall be carried out, Rittmeister," replied Max, who was glad to be relieved of his monotonous task of listening hour after hour for coded messages, and looked forward with some pleasure to the coming adventure.
Shortly afterwards, Max, having delivered his message to the Arabian chief, was standing beside Carl under the shadow of a cluster of trees on the very margin of the pool. That wonderful instrument, the vibrative drum, which is fashioned somewhat on the principle of the human ear, but with a large horn-shaped receptacle for receiving the very minutest sound waves, and focussing them on to a very sensitive drum, was engaging their attention.
Every now and then, when they fancied they heard a sound that broke the stillness of the desert, they would listen acutely, turning the horn this way and that way to discover whence came the sound.
"They are due about mid-day, the chief says," remarked Carl, after a brief pause in their conversation. "What time do you make it now?"
"A quarter of an hour yet," responded Max, consulting his chronometer, and making a rapid calculation to allow for the difference in longitude, for he still carried Central European time.
"And they're sure to follow the 30th parallel?"
"Yes, it's their shortest route," replied the wireless expert.
"Then they should pass within three or four miles from here," observed Carl.
"Yes, unless they've drifted a little out of their course."
"But we should hear them on the vibrator even if they were fifty miles away in a silent land like this."
"Undoubtedly."
"Listen! Can you hear anything?" exclaimed Max in a slightly nervous tone, after a brief silence.
"No, I don't think so, but those fellows over there must be quiet; they're getting excited about the promised loot."
"Go and tell them, Carl; you speak the best Arabic."
The German left the drum for a moment and after expostulating for a while with the sheik, he gained his point and the word was passed along for silence.
The Arabs were greatly mystified by this strange instrument, as well as by those aerial wires affixed to the trees, and most of all by that strange, weird machine, hidden away behind the sand-proof curtains of the little camouflaged hangar, like the sacred ark in the holy of holies.
With wondering eyes they had on occasion watched the Scorpion mount to the heavens with marvellous ease and descend with like facility–bearing its human burden aloft to the very skies and bringing them safely to earth again.
These strange gods which the infidels had brought with them to their desert home were greatly feared even by these brave, proud men, and it was only the largesse and the promise of still better things to come, from the great white chief, which prevented these sons of the desert from leaving this dreaded spot.
The scout pilot, having obtained his wish, now returned to the instrument, for his companion was already beckoning to him. Evidently the approach of the airship had been indicated by the sensitive drum, but, ere Carl reached the margin of the pool, he noticed the Rittmeister emerge from the hangar where he had been decoding the message, and wave for him to approach.
"What is it, Rittmeister?" he called.
"The message. Come here a moment!"
Max, who thought that a faint sound he had just heard from the instrument might portend the distant approach of the liner, left the drum, for he knew there would be plenty of time, and joined the other two by the hangar on the other side of the pool, for he also was curious about the cryptic message, which he had taken earlier in the day.
"Was it from the professor?" he asked in his first breath.
"Yes, he is in for a bad time, I fear," replied the Rittmeister. "He will not be able to communicate again for some time."
"What is the matter?" asked the others simultaneously.
"Why, Keane and Sharpe are on his track again. You know the rascals; they were secret service pilots and spies during the war, and now they are scout pilots in the British aerial police. They're the left-hand and the right hand of that confounded Tempest, the little tin god at Scotland Yard, and the brains of the aerial police."
"Himmel! I hope he can outwit them," exclaimed Carl. "They're keen birds, both of them, and they have some exploits to their credit."
"If he can't, then the length of our existence is the capacity of those remaining eight cylinders of uranis," ventured Max.
"And the length of the rope round our necks as well," murmured his companion.
They all laughed at this, but Spitzer looked keenly for an instant into the eyes of the two pilots, as though he would search their innermost souls, and make sure that they would be game to the end. But they evidently read his thoughts also, for Max announced:–
"It's all right, Rittmeister; we're not going back upon our word. The die is cast!" and Carl in a brave attempt at another sally, added:–
"The cast is–die!" at which they all laughed again, as the old sea pirates laughed before they blew up their ship, when they saw that the game was up.
The next instant their thoughts were diverted to another subject. It was already mid-day, for the sun by his altitude announced it. As they approached the drum, they could now distinctly hear the hum of mighty engines though still forty miles away, recorded in that delicate instrument, and one thought, uttered or unexpressed, came instinctively to each mind:–
"Aircraft approaching!"
CHAPTER IX
THE PHANTOM BIRD
"Airship or aeroplane?" asked von Spitzer, a moment later, as Carl closely watched the delicate recorder, which, as the vibration caused by the sound waves increased, indicated not only the type of craft, but the type of engine by which it was driven, and also whether the engine was running with or without defects. So wonderful are the secrets which man has already wrested from nature.
"Airship, decidedly!" replied Carl, after a second's pause. "Full-powered too; there are four or five Sunbeam-Maori engines, and all running smoothly."
"Her position?" demanded the Rittmeister next.
"Forty-four miles due east," came the answer.
"Then it must be the aerial mail from India; she is just about due."
"Is she steering due west?" the chief asked.
"About two degrees south, that's all," replied Carl. "She's evidently getting a little drift from the upper currents."
"Good!" remarked the chief airman. "Then if she continues steering steady, she should pass within a couple of miles of us in another twenty or twenty-five minutes. Come along, Carl, it is time for us to get away. You will remain on the ground, Max. You have a difficult job. As soon as we get away, see that the tents are struck, and all men and horses placed under cover of the trees."
"Yes, sir."
"And now sound the alarm signal, and help us to get out the Scorpion; it is going to bite to-day," ordered the Rittmeister as he strode away, exclaiming,
"Who wouldn't be a king of the desert? For one day at least it will be, 'Deutschland, Deutschland ueber alles!'"
The alarm being sounded, all the occupants of the little camp went to quarters, just as they had been rehearsed during the last few days. The camouflaged fabric was stripped from the little hangar, and the Scorpionwas set free to bite once more. She was released from the ropes which held her down and turned head to wind. The steel folding wings were snapped back into their sockets and made secure.
"Are you ready, Carl?" asked the chief, as he completed his rapid survey of the machine, during which neither the propellers, planes, tail-fin nor rudder escaped his scrutiny.
"Aye, ready, sir!" came the reply from the junior, who was now seated in the armour-plated conning-tower, testing the controls and examining his machine guns.
Without a moment's delay the chief clambered up through the little trapdoor and joined his companion. Then he paused for a moment whilst he swept the eastern horizon with his powerful binoculars.
"I cannot see her yet, Carl," he said. Then turning to Max, who stood by the starboard engine, he shouted, "Just try to pick up her position again from the drum. She may have changed her course a trifle."
The Gotha pilot dashed off on his errand, and after carefully listening for a moment, he returned and said, "East-south-east, about four degrees east."
"Good, she'll pass about five miles south of us then; but she's not visible yet," replied Spitzer.
"She's getting a good deal of drift, I fancy," returned Max.
"Anyhow, we'll get up into the blue and wait for her," said the airman, and waving his hand for the signal to stand clear, he pressed the self-starting knob, and instantaneously both engines sprang into life, and the whirring propellers started up such a dust storm from the loose sand of the desert that the Arabs were startled, and rushed to secure their frightened steeds.
Within ten seconds the rev.-counter indicated two thousand five hundred, and, sufficient power for flying speed being thus obtained, Max deftly removed the chocks from the wheels, and this new type of desert steed dashed off across the sands, and leapt into the air, amid the cheers of the astonished Bedouins.
"Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful!" cried the Arab chief, as he raised his hands imploringly towards heaven. "It is the bird of destiny, my children, the phantom of the desert!" and Max could scarcely restrain a smile as he beheld the momentary fear which had seized these strong, fierce men.
The next moment, however, they were all busy striking the tents and bringing horses, equipment, and all the camp effects under the shadow of the trees.
Meanwhile the Scorpion, appearing exactly like a huge grey phantom bird, soared away in a north-westerly direction, lest it should be observed by the occupants of the approaching liner.
And in a few minutes, rising rapidly by steep spirals, and an almost vertical climb, it had disappeared from sight. Soon it soared over the camp again at ten thousand feet, and appeared but a speck in the cloudless blue, like the faintest suspicion of a tiny cirrus cloud.
Shortly afterwards a cry from one of the natives directed the attention of all present towards another tiny streak in the opposite direction. His sharp, piercing eyes had been the first to discern the approaching airship.
"Allah, the Compassionate!" again began the sheik, and Max, fearing that this strange visitant might affect their nerves, called out aloud in the best Arabic he could muster:–
"Allah be praised! This stranger carries gold and rare jewels across the desert. He must pay tribute to the sons of Jebel and Shomer!"
This appeal to their cupidity instantly changed the demeanour of these fanatics. Their fear departed. Even when, later, they heard the roar of the powerful engines which propelled the airship, their one thought was of plunder.
"The treasures of twenty Damascus' caravans are in that great airship," cried Max, fulfilling with considerable skill the part which Spitzer had allotted to him.
The Bedouins, whose feelings were now raised to the highest pitch of excitement, began to fear lest, after all, so rich a prize might be lost, and they eagerly searched the skies for the phantom airman, as they called the Rittmeister, and shouted:–
"Where is the phantom bird? Where is the great white sheik?" and they would have dashed out into the desert on their fiery steeds, for they were already mounted, but the German restrained them, saying:–
"There is no need to hunt the quarry. The great white sheik will bring down the airship on this very spot. Be ready, when I give the signal, to surround it."
Another anxious moment passed, and the airship, travelling rapidly at some three thousand feet above the ground, would have passed them by some few miles to the south, but at that instant, the Indian judge caught sight of the picturesque oasis with its cluster of palms far down below, and said to his soldier companion:–
"Look, Colonel Wilson! Just look at that beauty spot after two hundred miles of yellow desert."
"Ah, wonderful!" exclaimed the delighted soldier. "It is a little garden planted by Nature in the solitary wastes."
"How picturesque! I should like to land there," returned the other.
"Let us ask the captain at least to change his course slightly, so that we may pass over it and photograph it as a souvenir of our pleasant journey," said the officer.
At that moment the captain, passing down the gangway, overheard the remark, and being eager to oblige his distinguished passengers, he telephoned his orders to the navigating officer, who slightly altered the ship's course, so as to pass almost directly over the oasis.
It was while they were engaged in delightful contemplation of this emerald isle embedded in the gold of the desert, that another object attracted the attention of the judge. Chancing to glance upwards, he caught sight of a silvery speck six thousand feet above them, and a little way on their beam.
"See, a tiny cloudlet in the sky; the first I have ever seen in crossing these deserts."
"A cloud, where?" asked his companion.
"There, right up in the blue vault of heaven," said the judge, pointing out the speck which now seemed to have grown larger.
"Why, it is a bird; some great vulture of the desert. It seems to be diving right down upon us! These vultures, I hear, have often attacked the airships in the desert. It evidently takes us for some new kind of prey."
"A bird!" cried the captain, who had now joined the speakers. "Let me see it?"
"There it is!" cried the two men simultaneously, pointing out the grey, swift phantom.
The captain saw the bird-like object, and one glance sufficed.
"It is an aeroplane," he said, and there was just a touch of uneasiness in his voice.
"An aeroplane?" echoed the others, and an instant later, viewing it through his glasses, the colonel added:–
"Why, so it is; but I say, Captain, what a peculiar type of aeroplane! It is one of the patrols, I expect, come to meet us."
"Your glasses, if you please, for one moment," asked the captain, and he almost snatched them from the hands of the officer.
The next instant a violent expletive burst from the captain's lips.
Leaving his companions, he dashed down the corridor to the wireless operator's room. The operator was already engaged in conversation with the aerial visitor by means of the wireless telephone, and the captain took in the situation at a glance.
"What does he want? Who is he?" blurted out the skipper.