there were some who supported him, he had become to most a figure of some considerable entertainment value.
Captain Quelch had not directly encountered Reagan and he was faintly amused by the reports he had heard concerning my own embarrassment. “You must be more firm with him, Lieutenant Bastable. It is a particular knack, you know, controlling a difficult passenger.”
“This one’s mad, skipper.” We were having a drink in the little bar above the control cabin which was especially for the officers. “You ought to see his eyes,” I said.
Quelch smiled sympathetically, but it was obvious he put much of my trouble down to my own inexperience and the fact that I was essentially a groundman.
O ur crossing of that wide stretch of ocean between South America and the first of the South Sea islands was as peaceful as usual and we flew through blue and sunny skies.
By the time we sighted Puka Puka, however, we were receiving telephoned messages about a freak storm blowing up in the Papeete region. Heavy electrical interference soon cut these messages off, but at this stage we had no trouble keeping the ship in trim. Stewards warned the passengers that it was likely to get a bit bumpy as we neared Tahiti, but we expected to reach the island on time. We took the ship up to twenty-five hundred feet and hoped to avoid the worst of the winds. The engineers working in the diesel nacelles were ordered to keep the Loch Etive at full speed ahead when we hit the disturbance.
A few minutes later it became strangely dark and a peculiar, cold grey light streamed through our portholes. The electrics were switched on.
Next moment we had plunged into the storm and heard the thunder of hailstones beating against the huge hull. The sound was like a thousand machine-guns going off at once and we could hardly hear one another speak. The temperature dropped dramatically and we shivered with cold until the ship’s heating system responded to our need. As thunder and lightning crashed and flashed around us the Loch Etive shook a little but her engines roared defiantly back and we plunged on into the swirling black cloud. There was no danger of lightning striking our fully insulated hull. Occasionally the clouds would part to show us the sea boiling about below.
“Glad I’m not down there,” said Captain Quelch with a grin. “Makes you grateful the airship was invented.”
Soft music began to sound from the telephone receivers on the bridge. The skipper told his second officer to switch it off. “Never could understand the theory behind that.”
My stomach turned over as the ship fell a few feet and then recovered. I began to feel little tendrils of fear creep into my mind. It was the first time I had felt nervous aboard an airship since Major Powell had picked me up at Teku Benga. That seemed centuries ago now.
“Very dirty weather, indeed,” murmured the captain. “Worst I’ve ever known at this time of year.” He buttoned up his jacket. “How’s our height, height cox?”
“Holding steady, sir.”
The door to the bridge opened and the third officer came in. He was furious.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Damn it!” he swore. “I’ve just had a tangle with your chap, Bastable. Bloody fellow Reagan! Screaming about life-rafts and parachutes. He’s berserk. Never known a passenger like it. Says we’re going down. I’ve had the most awful shouting match with him. He wanted to see you, sir.” The third officer addressed the captain.
I smiled at Quelch, who grinned wryly back. “What did you tell him, number three?”
“I think I calmed him down in the end, sir.” The third officer frowned. “It was all I could do to stop myself punching him on the jaw.”
“Better not do that, number three.” The captain took out his pipe and began to light it. “Not very good for the company if he sues us, eh? And we’ve a special responsibility, too—courtesy to American Imperial, that sort of thing.”
The third
Captain Quelch had not directly encountered Reagan and he was faintly amused by the reports he had heard concerning my own embarrassment. “You must be more firm with him, Lieutenant Bastable. It is a particular knack, you know, controlling a difficult passenger.”
“This one’s mad, skipper.” We were having a drink in the little bar above the control cabin which was especially for the officers. “You ought to see his eyes,” I said.
Quelch smiled sympathetically, but it was obvious he put much of my trouble down to my own inexperience and the fact that I was essentially a groundman.
O ur crossing of that wide stretch of ocean between South America and the first of the South Sea islands was as peaceful as usual and we flew through blue and sunny skies.
By the time we sighted Puka Puka, however, we were receiving telephoned messages about a freak storm blowing up in the Papeete region. Heavy electrical interference soon cut these messages off, but at this stage we had no trouble keeping the ship in trim. Stewards warned the passengers that it was likely to get a bit bumpy as we neared Tahiti, but we expected to reach the island on time. We took the ship up to twenty-five hundred feet and hoped to avoid the worst of the winds. The engineers working in the diesel nacelles were ordered to keep the Loch Etive at full speed ahead when we hit the disturbance.
A few minutes later it became strangely dark and a peculiar, cold grey light streamed through our portholes. The electrics were switched on.
Next moment we had plunged into the storm and heard the thunder of hailstones beating against the huge hull. The sound was like a thousand machine-guns going off at once and we could hardly hear one another speak. The temperature dropped dramatically and we shivered with cold until the ship’s heating system responded to our need. As thunder and lightning crashed and flashed around us the Loch Etive shook a little but her engines roared defiantly back and we plunged on into the swirling black cloud. There was no danger of lightning striking our fully insulated hull. Occasionally the clouds would part to show us the sea boiling about below.
“Glad I’m not down there,” said Captain Quelch with a grin. “Makes you grateful the airship was invented.”
Soft music began to sound from the telephone receivers on the bridge. The skipper told his second officer to switch it off. “Never could understand the theory behind that.”
My stomach turned over as the ship fell a few feet and then recovered. I began to feel little tendrils of fear creep into my mind. It was the first time I had felt nervous aboard an airship since Major Powell had picked me up at Teku Benga. That seemed centuries ago now.
“Very dirty weather, indeed,” murmured the captain. “Worst I’ve ever known at this time of year.” He buttoned up his jacket. “How’s our height, height cox?”
“Holding steady, sir.”
The door to the bridge opened and the third officer came in. He was furious.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Damn it!” he swore. “I’ve just had a tangle with your chap, Bastable. Bloody fellow Reagan! Screaming about life-rafts and parachutes. He’s berserk. Never known a passenger like it. Says we’re going down. I’ve had the most awful shouting match with him. He wanted to see you, sir.” The third officer addressed the captain.
I smiled at Quelch, who grinned wryly back. “What did you tell him, number three?”
“I think I calmed him down in the end, sir.” The third officer frowned. “It was all I could do to stop myself punching him on the jaw.”
“Better not do that, number three.” The captain took out his pipe and began to light it. “Not very good for the company if he sues us, eh? And we’ve a special responsibility, too—courtesy to American Imperial, that sort of thing.”
The third
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