The Zeppelin Destroyer: Being Some Chapters of Secret History

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 beforehand, 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 realised that below me lay a small town. I recognised 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.

Chapter Twenty

Those “Eyes!”

Next day dawned wild and wet, with a sixty-mile-an-hour wind.

During the morning Teddy and I, assisted by Theed, made some little adjustments to the machine which, though reposing in the barn, was ready at any instant for another flight.

All three of us were, naturally, full of glee that our invention was a proved success. It only remained for us to rise and attack the next Zeppelin that came over.

This idea, however, was all very well, of course, but enemy airships had a sly knack of coming over the sea at unexpected moments, dropping bombs, and returning before our aeroplanes could rise sufficiently high to drop incendiary bombs upon them. The exploits of poor young Warneford, and of the French gunners behind the lines at Brabant-le-Roi, had been hailed with delight by the Allies, and naturally so, yet no enemy aircraft had been brought down on British soil. That was a feat which I intended, even at the risk of my own life, to achieve.

The power to destroy a Zeppelin had been placed within my hand, and I intended to use it, though at present I had not matured any actual plan.

After our frugal luncheon that day, a meal of boiled bacon and beans, the weather cleared up, so Roseye expressed a wish to go down to Eastbourne to buy something she required. So I took her in the ear. A nip was in the air, so she wore a veil, and on starting away I told Teddy that, in all probability, we should have dinner in Eastbourne before returning.

“Right ho! old man,” he replied. “Perhaps I shall run up to town. We want those two new nuts and the sparking-plugs you know, so I can get them. If I go, I shan’t be down till the last train, so send Theed over to Nutley to meet me, won’t you?”

“Right,” I said, and a moment later, with Roseye beside me, I started off down the long narrow wooded lane which led round by a place called Oldlands, and down into Maresfield.

The winter landscape was dull and dispiriting.

We had passed through the little town, and out again upon the Lewes road when, having gone about four miles, we suddenly saw a big dark green limousine standing at the roadside. The chauffeur, whose coat was off, had evidently got tyre-trouble, and, the road at that bend being very narrow, I was compelled to slow down in order to pass.

Beside the car, watching the chauffeur as he worked, was a middle-aged man in a thick drab motor-coat and cap of shepherd’s plaid, while beside him stood a tall, erect woman in furs. The man was idly smoking a cigar end and laughing with the woman, and as we passed the latter turned to gaze at us. In the passing glance I obtained of her I saw that hers was a hard, thin face, with high cheek-bones, an unusually pointed chin, and a curious expression in her eyes.

Somehow – why I cannot tell – I thought she regarded us a little inquisitively.

Next instant Roseye, in breathless fear, clutched at my arm, gasping:

“Quick, Claude! For Heaven’s sake let’s get away!”

“Why?” I asked, much surprised at the sudden terror she had evinced.

“That woman!” cried my love, in a voice of alarm. “Did she see me – do you think she saw me?” she asked, her trembling hand still upon my arm.

“How could she, through that veil?” I asked. “It was impossible.”

“Is my veil really thick enough to conceal my face entirely?” she asked eagerly.

“Not absolutely to conceal it, but to render identification extremely difficult at such a distance,” I replied. “But – tell me, why are you trembling like this, Roseye?”

“Oh, drive on,” she cried. “Drive quickly. Do! She saw you – she will know you from those photographs in the newspapers. I saw by her look that she recognised you. Don’t glance round. Keep on, keep on! Go as fast as ever you can. Save me from her – oh! do save me, Claude!” she implored.

I saw, with much apprehension, that her unaccountable mental agitation was returning.

“But who is the woman?” I demanded eagerly. “She’s a perfect stranger to me.”

“Ah! but not to me, Claude! That woman!” she gasped, as her gloved hands lying upon her knees clutched convulsively. “That woman is – she’s the Woman with the Leopard’s Eyes!”

“That woman!” I ejaculated, amazed. “Was that really the woman?”

“Yes. But – why is she about here? She means mischief, Claude. She means to do us both harm!”

“And the man?” I asked, bending to her without glancing into her face, for I was driving at increased pace in obedience to her command. “Who is he?”

“I couldn’t see his face – only hers – the fiend!”

“Shall we turn back and watch their movements?” I suggested.

“No, no! A thousand times no!” she shrieked, apparently terrified at such a suggestion. “Don’t go near her. Save me from her – won’t you, Claude? If you love me, don’t let her approach me. Will you?”

“Trust in me, darling,” I said reassuringly, yet greatly puzzled at the unexpected encounter, and in fear also that sudden sight of the hated woman might bring on another nerve attack.

She drew aside her veil and lifted her close-fitting little motor-hat from her brow, as though its weight oppressed her. Then I noticed how pale and terrified was her face. She had blanched to the very lips.

“Don’t trouble about the matter any more,” I urged, yet I knew well that sight of the mysterious woman had recalled to her memory some evil and terrible recollection that she had been striving to put from her for ever.

“But I do trouble about it, Claude,” she said in a harsh, apprehensive voice. “I fear for you more than I fear for myself. She is your enemy, as well as mine. Against her we are, both of us, powerless.”

I pricked up my ears at her words.

“What do you mean, Roseye?” I asked. “How can she be my enemy? I’ve never before set eyes upon the woman!”

“Ah! you don’t know, dear – so you can’t understand,” was my love’s impatient reply.

“No. I want you to tell me,” I said. “If danger really besets both of us, is it not your duty to explain the facts to me, and leave me to take steps to protect ourselves?”

“Yes. I would tell you, dear – only – only – ”

“Only what?”

“Only – well – only I can’t!” she answered evasively. Then, a second later, she added: “I told you, Claude, long ago that I couldn’t tell you anything.”

“You hold some secret; and yet you conceal it from me!” I remarked in a tone of reproach.

“Because – because I am compelled. I – I am in fear – in deadly fear, Claude!”

“In fear of what?” I asked, for I saw by her demeanour that such was the nerve-strain that she was on the point of tears.

For a second she hesitated. Then she said:

“In fear of that woman – the one with the Leopard’s Eyes.”

I saw it was quite useless to argue further with her while driving, for we were then travelling at a great pace, and had already passed the four-ways at the Cross-in-Hand.

She lapsed into a long silence, seated immovably at my side, her gaze was fixed blankly upon the muddy road that constantly opened out before us.

On the previous night we had been flying over that very road.

I remarked upon it, in order to change the conversation, but she only nodded. Truly her figure was a pathetic one, for she had turned back her veil, so that the air might cool her troubled brain.

As a result that passing glimpse of the mysterious woman whom she held in such fearsome terror, her whole attitude had again in become changed. She looked wild and haggard, and in her great blue eyes, so clear and trustful, there was a queer, uncanny look that caused me both wonderment and apprehension.

On we went, through Hailsham and Polegate, until we ran over the steep hill at Willingdon, and at last descended through Eastbourne Old Town, until we reached the busy Terminus Road of the fashionable go-ahead watering-place, the road which led to the fine sea-front so beloved by the summer visitor.

Roseye having done her shopping in the Terminus Road, we ran along past the Wish Tower to the Grand Hotel, where we took tea at one of the little wicker tables in the glass-fronted lounge, and afterwards smoked cigarettes.

Though it was winter, the hotel was filled by a smart crowd.

I met Tringham, who had learnt flying with me and who was now a naval Flight-Commander. He was with his young wife and we four had a long gossip, but of course I said nothing of our secret flight on the previous night.

Naturally, our talk was of Zeppelins, and in the course of our chat Tringham, who was in naval uniform, discussed with me what was necessary to damage a Zeppelin sufficiently to bring her down.

“The question,” he declared emphatically, “has several answers. If the machine is hit fair and square by an explosive-incendiary projectile, which ignites the gas as it escapes from the damaged gas-bags after mixing with the air, it is certain it will crash to earth a blazing wreck, as the one did behind the French lines the other day. But rifle bullets will do little harm, as they only make small holes, which often can be repaired by the crew whilst aloft.”

“I quite agree that rifles against a Zeppelin are just about as efficacious as firing with pea-shooters,” I remarked.

“The public have not yet realised that a Zeppelin is a very difficult thing to attack successfully,” declared the Flight-Commander, who as one of the best-known of our naval pilots, had done much heroic work, and was now stationed somewhere on the East Coast. “Shells which don’t hit fair to the mark may badly damage one of the eighteen ballonets, but this is not sufficient to bring her down. However, it may partially cripple the machine by upsetting its stability, and it is then highly dangerous to run the powerful engines at speed. To hit either of the gondolas would, of course, do serious harm, but at six thousand feet they are at night an almost invisible mark, and it is only by a lucky chance they would be damaged.”

“And what, in your opinion, is the best means of destroying Zeppelins?” Roseye asked, with a sly glance at me.

“My dear Miss Lethmere,” he replied, “guns and guns alone are at present of any use against these air monsters. We must see to it that the weapons we use are sighted to carry to 12,000 feet, and fire a shell that will not only rip up casing and ballonet, but will at the same time ignite the escaping gas.”

“The newest super-Zeppelins have a sentry posted on top,” remarked Mrs Tringham, a smart little lady, well-known to Roseye, for she had often flown with her husband. “He is separated from the crew far below, but he is in telephonic communication with the commander, so that he can warn him of any aeroplane ascending above for bomb-dropping. I quite agree with Alfred,” she went on, “well-equipped guns and good naval gunners are the best defences against this new peril of the night.”

“Moreover,” Tringham remarked, “I give no credence whatever to the reports that the Germans are circulating, namely, that they are completing two new Zeppelins a week.”

“I agree,” I said. “That story has gone the round of the Press, but is only a piece of clever propaganda sent out to neutral countries with the object of being seized upon by their sensational newspapers. No! Airships are big, unwieldy, as well as very vulnerable things. That the enemy has a number of them is quite certain, but the policy of frightfulness on paper is part of the Teuton plan. I admit that we are behindhand with our air-defences; but I do not support the Press in its shrieking clamours. We shall defeat the Huns one day – never fear. England has never yet been beaten.”