The Great Airship: A Tale of Adventure.

CHAPTER I

The Fame of the Zeppelin

There are exceptions, we suppose, to almost every rule, and this particular Friday towards the end of June was such an exception. It was fine. Not a cloud flecked the sun-lit sky. A glorious blue expanse hung over a sea almost as blue, but criss-crossed in all directions by the curling white tops of tiny wavelets, all that remained to remind one of the atrocious weather which had prevailed. For the North Sea, Europe, Great Britain, everywhere in fact, had been treated to a succession of violent gales, to a continuous deluge of rain, to bitter hail, and squalls of snow in some parts. And here and now, off the mouth of the river Elbe the sun shone, the sky was a delight, a balmy breeze fanned the cheeks of the passengers crowding the decks of the Hamburg-Amerika liner.

"What a change! I began to wonder whether there was such a season as summer. Have a cigar?"

Mr. Andrew Provost drew from an inner pocket of his jacket a silver-mounted case, pulled the lid off and offered one of the contents to his nephew.

"Not that one, Joe," he said, as the young man beside him placed his long fingers on one of the weeds. "It's Dutch. Not that they're not good smokes; I like 'em sometimes. But give me a Havana, and offer one to your friends. There! That one! You'll like it."

"Thanks! I know 'em, Uncle. You always give me your best."

There was a smile on the handsome face of the young man as he obeyed the directions of his Uncle Andrew. It was obvious indeed from their smiles, the manner in which they paced the deck arm in arm, and from the intimacy of their conversation, that the two were on the best of terms. And why not? They were related, as we have stated. Then they had for long been separated. Mr. Andrew Provost had not always been the comfortable-looking individual he now appeared. For prosperous and comfortable he looked without a doubt. Florid and sunburned, with white hair and moustache which made his complexion seem to be even more ruddy, he was tall, and slight, and gracefully if not robustly built. There was something of a military air about him, and we whisper the truth when we say that he was often enough taken for an old soldier, much to his own secret gratification. Dark grey eyes looked out genially from a smiling face upon the world and his fellows. His forehead was hardly seamed. Care, in fact, seemed to have failed in its effort to reach him, or, more likely perhaps, his genial, plucky nature had caused it to fall easily from his shoulders. For the rest he was exceedingly well groomed, and looked what he was, a prosperous, healthy gentleman.

"But it wasn't always like that, Joe," he told his companion, as they paced the deck, basking in the sun. "Your Uncle Andrew wasn't always the stylish dog he looks now. Not by a long way. I've been on my beam ends."

"Ah! Exactly."

"Know what that means?"

"To a certain extent. When you came home last Christmas I was down in the dumps. Absolutely on my beam ends."

Andrew Provost turned to look with some astonishment at his nephew. He inspected him critically from the top of his glossy Homburg hat to the well-polished brown shoes which he wore. And the face finally drew all his attention.

"Impossible!" he declared politely. "Joe on his beam ends! Joe in the dumps – never!"

"True as possible, sir – I was desperate," repeated Joe, his face grave for that moment.

"Well, well, perhaps so. I'm forgetting. I was young like you when I was down. Young fellows make light of such matters. It's as well, perhaps, or the world wouldn't go along half so easily. But I'd never have thought it, Joe. You never said a word to me; you look so jolly."

No one would have denied the fact. Joe Gresson looked what he was, a handsome, jovial fellow of twenty-seven. Fair and tall, and broader than his uncle, he had deep-set eyes which gave to his smiling face an air of cleverness. And the young fellow was undoubtedly clever. An engineer by profession, he had graduated at Cambridge, had passed through the shops, the drawing office, and other departments of one of the biggest engineering concerns in England, and had finally struck out a line for himself. He had been experimenting for the past four years.

"What's the good of being miserable because things don't go right, Uncle?" he said with a smile. "I've told you how I took up engineering. Well, I thought I had a good idea. I left the shops at Barrow and worked on my own. Thanks to the few thousands I possessed I was able to carry out some important experiments."

"Ah, my boy! Well, you succeeded?"

"Yes and no; I went so far with the work that I was sure that success was possible. Then there was an accident. The whole affair was wrecked, and I woke up to find myself without funds and in a terrible condition of despair."

"On your beam ends, in fact – well, like me," said Mr. Andrew. "I'll tell you about myself; then you'll give your yarn. I'll have to hear what this work was. But my tale don't take long. Let's step up and down again and I'll give it to you. Let's see – yes, I was a fiery, unmanageable young idiot."

"Never!" interjected Joe.

"Like many other young fellows," proceeded Andrew, as if he had not been interrupted. "I bluntly refused the post which my father offered me, and cut away from home. I went to Canada, worked my way out aboard the steamer, a cockleshell in those days, and half starved for the next few months, for it was in the winter and there was no work to be had. But I learned something. In the six months which followed my landing I acted as a cook's boy, a porter, a fireman, and a clerk in a grocery store. That's where I had my eyes opened. The country was opening up. I had saved a few dollars. I set up a store of my own in one of the nearest settlements, a mere hut knocked together with the help of a hammer and some nails. But it paid. I saved all along. I built a real brick house, and the sales went up like wildfire. Then I chose a manager and opened up a second store away in the nearest settlement. It went on after that almost by itself. I got to own a hundred stores. I bought property right and left. Then I sold out. Now I'm merely an idler, come home to take a long look round. On my beam ends one day, you see; up and prosperous in the years that followed. Now, my boy, let's hear your yarn. Hallo, what's the excitement? People are crushing over to the far side of the ship."

The two had been so engaged in conversation that they had not noticed the exodus of the other passengers, and now awoke to find themselves the only tenants of that side of the deck. Arm in arm still they hurried round the long deck cabin to join their fellow passengers. They found them massed together on the starboard side, crushing towards the rails, and for the most part with their eyes cast aloft.

"Wonderful! Marvellous! Extraordinary!" were some of the remarks they overheard, emanating from the English people present. From the many foreigners there came guttural cries of delight and shouts almost of triumph.

"What is it? What's the fuss?" asked Mr. Andrew eagerly, craning his head and looking aloft. "I can see nothing to cause such excitement."

"Nothing, mein Herr! Is that nothing – no?" asked a stumpy little passenger against whom Andrew was leaning, twisting his portly frame round with an effort. He shot a short, plump arm above his head, and held a stumpy finger aloft. "Nothing?" he asked indignantly. "You call that nothing at all, mein Herr? It is marvellous! It is magnificent!"

"But – but, what is? I – I – er – beg your pardon," said Andrew politely, "but really I can't – "

"Look, Uncle," cried Joe sharply, pointing upwards himself. "It's a little hard to see perhaps. That's what they aim at, of course. But there's an airship there – a Zeppelin."

"Ah!" gasped Andrew, while the stumpy little foreigner, who had now contrived to twist himself entirely round, stared angrily at him. Then a broad, beaming smile of pride seamed his face, a fat, good-natured face to be sure, while the light of recognition danced in his eyes.

"Ah! Mr. Andrew Provost," he exclaimed in thick but urbane tones. "We have met again. This is fortunate. But you see now; you see the German triumph. You see the Zeppelin with which they have conquered the air. Ah, it is magnificent!"

Andrew had scarcely time to shake his hand and recognize this plump little person. He was vastly impressed at the sight some four thousand feet above him, and away to the left. He could have shouted with delight himself. The object, in fact, claimed his whole attention.

"A Zeppelin!" he cried. "A real Zeppelin! One of Germany's air dreadnoughts – magnificent!"

It was magnificent. Seldom yet have Englishmen had the opportunity of seeing one of those leviathans of the air. At a period when balloons have become common objects in the sky, when the whole world almost has become accustomed to aeroplanes scooping through the air, the people of most countries are still strangers to the sight of a mighty airship swimming in space. And there was one, a long, sinuous hull of neutral colour, so that even in broad daylight it was not too easily visible, floating horizontally in the sky, like some gigantic cigar, while fore and aft, immediately beneath the hull, were two boat-shaped objects, a little darker than the mass above supporting them. There was the dull hum of machinery too.

"Moving along slowly," gasped Andrew, still wonderstruck at such a sight. "What's she doing?"

"Finishing a continuous run of twenty-four hours and more," declared the little stranger, whom we will now introduce as Mr. Carl Reitberg. "Just showing us how fresh she is, and how easy the task has been," he cried in tones of the utmost pride. "See! She has more to show us. She has taken in fuel from the steamer yonder, and could sail again for another twenty-four hours. But she wishes to experiment with her bombs. Look, mein Herr! There is a float down below her. She will pulverize it. She will smash it. She will drop a bomb plumb into it, and, piff! it is gone. That, mein Herr, is the work of the latest Zeppelin."

Perhaps a thousand passengers crowded the rails and watched the monster of the air, and it was as Mr. Reitberg had so proudly announced. The Zeppelin was manœuvring away from the Hamburg-Amerika liner. Ahead of her, some five miles to the east, was a dot upon the ocean. Andrew swung his glasses to his eyes and fixed them upon that object.

"A float of some sort – yes," he said. "She is motoring towards it. Then she will stop above it."

"No – not at all," declared Mr. Reitberg. "She will continue at her fastest pace. Yet she will strike it. Watch. See – ah! Did I not say so? It is marvellous! There!"

Was it imagination? Andrew fancied he saw a small, dark object fall from one of the boat-shaped cars beneath the long Zeppelin. In a twinkling he swung his glasses down upon the float half-immersed in the sea below. Then a loud detonation reached his ears, while the float disappeared miraculously, the sea being churned up and splashed all about it. Nor was that all. There came from the ship above a succession of sharp reports, while bullets of large size struck the sea immediately over the spot where the float had been. Then another object dropped from the airship. It burst into flames within two hundred feet of leaving the hand which had projected it, and almost at once sent out a vast, spreading mass of dense smoke, that spread and spread and spread till the sky was obscured, till the airship was utterly hidden.

Mr. Carl Reitberg chuckled aloud, and danced with delight.

"Magnificent! Cunning! The latest thing!" he declared. "You see the reason, Mr. Provost? No; then I will tell you. The ship, the air dreadnought, you understand, discovers an enemy's ship, or shall we say the enemy's war harbour, or arsenal, or magazine, or what you will? She sails above it. She drops a bomb. Then, piff! the thing is done. The ship is destroyed; the harbour is wrecked; the magazine explodes. Men rush to and fro in panic – those who are left. For some are poisoned. Yes, some die not from the effects of the explosion, but because the airship has dropped also chemical bombs which burst and spread poisonous fumes everywhere. But men are left, we will allow. There are gunners there. They rush to the aerial guns. They load them; they attempt to take aim. But – where is the ship? Gone? No – but where? The sky is all smoke. There is no sign of her. She is invisible. Nicht wahr? It is too late; all the damage is done. The Zeppelin escapes to wreck more ships, more harbours, more magazines."

He puffed out his stout little chest, gazed aloft at the dense and spreading cloud of smoke, and waved his hands excitedly.

"It is magnificent!" he repeated for perhaps the tenth time. "It is a triumph! None can approach it. Many have watched and scorned the idea. Count Zeppelin has persevered. Germany has backed his efforts, and now, voila! – there is the result. Triumph! The conquest of the air. Mastery of the upper element; with none to gainsay us."

"But – but there are limits to the power of these ships," suggested Andrew, his words almost faltering. "There are limits to their range of travel."

Mr. Carl Reitberg put one fat finger artfully to the side of his nose. It was perhaps a little peculiarity he had picked up in England, for we hasten to explain that he was cosmopolitan. Carl Reitberg had spent many of his fifty-three years in South Africa. There he had enjoyed the protection of the Union Jack. He had a house in London now, and one also at Brighton. It may be said that he had made his fortune, thanks to his own astuteness and the opportunities given him by our British colonies. But he was not English. He was not entirely German. He belonged to the world. One day he was resident in Berlin, a second found him in London or in Brighton, while as likely as not the following weeks saw him parading the Champs Élysées in Paris, the Boulevards of Buenos Ayres, the streets of Mexico, or Broadway, New York. In fact, and in short, he was cosmopolitan.

"Limits, mein Herr!" he cried, still in those tones of pride, still dancing on his toes. "None! That ship can sail continuously over a thousand miles. Her wireless telegraph will reach within a hundred miles of that distance. She can manœuvre easily over a ship at sea and take in further supplies. She is, in short, a cruiser. Do you wish to sail in luxury to St. Petersburg? Hire, then, a Zeppelin. Do you desire to escape mal de mer? Call for one of these huge airships and sail for London. Do you fancy the conquest of some island kingdom? Mr. Provost, you are rich; buy one of the air dreadnoughts and blow your enemies sky high."

Andrew took his eyes from the spreading cloud of smoke overhead and glanced at the excited orbs of the little fellow. Then he looked at his nephew. And we tell but the truth when we say that his own eyes were troubled.

"It is magnificent, but it is terrible," he said slowly. "Terrible for those who have no aerial dreadnoughts. Yes, terrible. Their danger is greater than I could ever have imagined. And you say that these Zeppelins stand alone. There are no others?"

"None. But wait. Yes, there are others, also German. There are the Parseval, the semi-rigid ships of the air," said Mr. Reitberg with a truculent smile. "There are also the Gross ships; but the Zeppelins are infinitely superior. Elsewhere there are none. France, what are her ships? Russia, poof! we will not waste breath in discussing them. England – mein Herr, she has the Alpha, the Beta, and the Gamma, mere toy airships. They do not count."

There was a wide smile on his face now. Andrew winced at his words; there were even beads of perspiration on his forehead, while lines had knit themselves across his brow.

"You say that England has no such ships. Then she can build them, must build them," he said.

"Must – yes! But can she? Impossible!" Mr. Carl Reitberg looked his pity. "Impossible!" he repeated, while Andrew wiped his perspiring brow.

"I think not – hardly impossible, mein Herr," came in quiet tones from Joe, a silent witness of all that had been passing.

"Eh! Not impossible? You think that a bigger Gamma would suffice? You think that England could build such a ship as this Zeppelin without experiment, without numerous failures – all, we will say, within a year?"

"I am sure."

"Sure! You joke. The thing cannot be done; I know England. Men are clever there, but they have not studied these airships: they are ignorant."

"Not quite – I disagree. In six months, in three, perhaps, such a ship as sails above us could be erected; but better, with more power, a wider range, and a greater capacity for destruction."

Mr. Carl Reitberg gasped; he pulled an elegant silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. He was beginning to get annoyed with the calm, not to say idiotic, assurance of this young man. He looked Joe Gresson superciliously up and down, and then smiled urbanely.

"You are young," he said. "When you arrive at my age you will see your error. I, who know, say that such a thing is impossible."

"And I, Herr Reitberg, while thanking you, say that it can be done. It has been done, on a smaller scale. To-morrow, or let us say within three months, England could possess an aerial dreadnought superior to any Zeppelin. I am positive."

The smile left Mr. Reitberg's face. He looked at Joe as if he thought him mad. As for Andrew, at first he had watched his nephew with every sign of surprise, if not of disapproval. But now he smacked him on the back encouragingly.

"Bravo, Joe!" he cried. "Stick to your guns. You say England could build such a ship. Well, she's tried?"

"Yes; the Admiralty tried through their contractors, and failed."

"Ah, failed, yes!" lisped Mr. Reitberg. "So did Zeppelin. But he carried on his experiments; he succeeded. Your people did no more."

"Others took on the work."

Joe returned the looks of his two companions firmly. "And succeeded," he added.

"Who? You?" demanded Andrew eagerly.

"Yes; I did."

"Then I'd back you to do as you say. You declare that you could erect such a ship as we have just lost sight of, but better, with greater powers of movement, with greater range?"

"Certainly."

"Then why has mein Herr not done so?" asked Mr. Reitberg, with a lift of his eyebrows and outspread hands. He was the essence, in fact, of polite incredulity.

"I did on a small scale; then funds failed."

"Ah, yes! they always do, fortunately, mein Herr. Then your experiments are ended. This ship is but a creation of your brain. It must remain so; for funds are done with."

There was sarcasm in the voice. Andrew Provost resented the tone. He had never liked Mr. Reitberg overmuch, though they had met in more than one country and had dined together frequently. Besides, it roused his gorge to feel that here was an example of British ineptitude. He knew his nephew well enough by now, knew him to be a young man worth trusting. If he said he could do this thing, then he could.

"By Jingo, I'll give him the opportunity!" he cried. "Joe, how much'd it cost?"

"One hundred thousand pounds, perhaps. Not more; very likely a great deal less."

"And within three months? Well, let us say, within six months?" asked Mr. Reitberg incredulously. "Impossible! The money would be wasted. A ship be built in that time, by men inexperienced in such work, a ship, moreover, of almost unlimited range! You are dreaming, sir!"

Joe Gresson might have been excused if he had lost his temper. Instead, he smiled at the little foreigner. "I am all seriousness," he said. "If I had the means I would erect this ship, and prove her capacity to you. She would sail where you wished; no part of the earth would be too far for her."

"And I back him up in what he says. What this young fellow cares to declare as in his power I feel is not impossible. Now, Mr. Reitberg," cried Andrew with no little warmth, "I'll stand by him."

Mr. Reitberg did nothing in a hurry. It was his very slowness which had sometimes proved his success. But this discussion irritated him. He liked to feel that the Zeppelin was beyond all attempts at imitation. He considered that Joe was mad, or suffering from too great a shock of confidence. In any case, it seemed to him that what he described as possible was hopelessly out of the question. He tucked his short neck deep into his collar, screwed his head on one side, and then began to smile urbanely.

"Well, well," he said at last. "One hundred thousand pounds. What is it to me, or to you, Mr. Provost? Build this airship. Prove her to be better than a Zeppelin. Sail her round the world and then return to England. If you do all this, say within nine months of this date, then I return the cost of the venture. Is that a bargain?"

"Done!" shouted Andrew. "I'll back the boy. I'll find the money for him. If we succeed within nine months, then the loss is yours. The ship remains ours, while you pay for it. Let us step into the cabin. We'll draft out a form of agreement. When that's signed we'll set to in earnest."

It took but a half-hour to complete this necessary preliminary, so that when they returned on deck again the huge cloud of smoke had disappeared, while the Zeppelin was again in sight, a mere speck in the distance.

"Like that, but better, faster, stronger, with greater range," said Andrew, pointing up at her.

"Quite so – the impossible!" smiled Mr. Reitberg. "Do not blame me if you fail, Mr. Provost. I hate taking other people's money, or running anyone into large expense. Good luck to you!"

They shook hands on leaving the steamer at Southampton and parted. Joe and his uncle took train for London, and that same evening found them seated before the window of their private room at the hotel quietly discussing the exciting future before them.

CHAPTER II

Andrew Provost's Resolution

Andrew Provost was not the man to shirk his liabilities, or to shrink from an undertaking however difficult it might appear, and however impetuous he may have been in his decision.

"No, siree," he exclaimed, sipping his after-dinner coffee, and then pulling at a big cigar. "No, my boy, I ain't the one to back out, you bet. That fellow Reitberg got my monkey up with his sneers and his crows about those German Zeppelins. Boy and man I've lived under the Union Jack, and what folks can do elsewhere, why, they can do 'em as well where I've lived. Fire in at that agreement, Joe."

For the moment he had allowed a decided Yankee drawl to betray the country from which he had so recently come, for in Canada they speak much as they do in America, though the drawl and the accent are not so accentuated. It showed that Andrew was stirred. In moments of excitement he always developed a drawl; but if excited, he was also practical.

"Read that document, Joe?" he asked again. "Mind you, I admit that there are many of my old friends who would call me a fool over this business."

"Impossible, Uncle!" his nephew interrupted.

"Fiddlesticks, my boy! No offence, mind; but look at this matter squarely. How do we stand? It's like this. We're aboard a Hamburg-Amerika liner. We see a Zeppelin, and get a fine display, all free and for nothing. We run up against a fat little fellow named Reitberg, who's neither German nor English, nor anything in particular. Anyway, he's made his money like me under the Union Jack. Well, now, he crows about that ship, says there's not another nation could build one. Gets riled too, when you say that England could, that you yourself could. Shows plainly, though with some amount of politeness, that he don't believe you, and then gets to crowing again. Isn't that enough to put up a Britisher's back? Eh?"

"Well, it wasn't very pleasant certainly, rather riling. Made one wince."

"Wince! Squirm! Look here, Joe, I never liked being beaten. If I did I'd never have got to the position I have. I'd have been still running that small store away outside Toronto, with its tin roof and its walls tintacked together. It's because I didn't like being beaten that I'm not there. And I don't like to think that Britishers are beaten. When you said that you could build an airship better than a Zeppelin I believed you."