It was on one of these coasting trips that von Loringhoven then a stripling of seventeen--was within an ace of losing his life.

Ordered aloft on a winter's night to furl the topsail of the schooner "Pride o' Salcombe," he was benumbed with the piercing cold as he lay along the lee yard-arm. A burly British seaman saved him just as he was on the point of relaxing his hold. Gathering him in his arms the man brought him down on deck, little knowing what manner of young reptile he was nursing in his bosom. If von Loringhoven had had any spark of grat.i.tude it had been smothered by the pa.s.sion of "frightfulness" as expressed by dropping powerful explosives upon the defenceless civil population of the country to one of whose sons he owed his life.

A brief training at Friedrichshaven was followed by an exacting period at Bork.u.m which qualified von Loringhoven for a series of flights across the North Sea to the East Coast of England. As yet he was merely a tyro, gaining practical experience under a veteran Zeppelin commander. But at last the day came when he was given sole charge of one of the Kaiser's giant gas-bags.

"Go and raid the counties of Yorkshire and Lincolnshire," were his superior officer's instructions. "That's a fairly safe game. You'll find little more than dummy guns against you. Acquit yourself well and you will be given an opportunity to take part in the forthcoming gigantic raid upon London."

This was before the time when, as the Huns knew to their cost, the "swarm of hornets" promised by a former First Lord of the Admiralty proved their existence.

And now, after twelve months of active Zeppelin service von Loringhoven was over Lancashire. One part of his mission foiled he had yet to exhibit Teutonic frightfulness to the dwellers of the large manufacturing town of Barborough.

The second in command of the Zeppelin was an unter-leutnant of the name of Klick. It was one of his triumphs to announce that he had been arrested in England as a spy. That was in those distant pre-war times. He had been "spotted" by a sentry while in the act of sketching a fortification in the neighbourhood of an important naval station, arrested and charged at a police-court. Committed to the County a.s.sizes he was politely told by the judge that espionage was dishonourable. Klick smiled inwardly. To him spying was part of an important German military training--an organised procedure.

Nevertheless he was agreeably surprised when he was allowed to go with the admonition, "Don't do it again."

Fortunately for Great Britain such misplaced leniency is a thing of the past. On Unter-leutnant Klick it was entirely thrown away. His typically German mind read the clemency as a sign of weakness. He came from a country where the only strength is "force majeur."

"Well, Herr von Eitelwurmer," exclaimed the ober-leutnant after he had recovered from his surprise. "If you wish to see how our in comparable Zeppelins set to work you had better station yourself at this observation scuttle. I will lend you a fur coat."

"Pity you hadn't lent me one long before," growled the spy, as one of the crew helped him into the warm garment. "Yours is a cold business, von Loringhoven."

"Not when we get to work," corrected the other with a grim laugh.

"Excitement stirs our blood to boiling point."

A telephone bell tinkled softly. The commander took up the receiver.

"Ach!" he replied. "That is good."

The message was from Unter-leutnant Klick, announcing that the airship was immediately over the large town of Barborough. Von Loringhoven glanced at the alt.i.tude indicator. It registered 2,000 metres--too great for practical purposes where no danger was to be antic.i.p.ated from anti-aircraft guns. The speed of the Zeppelin was now less than ten miles an hour, just sufficient to keep her stationary over her objective.

The commander gave an order. A man on duty in the gondola thrust down a lever, Instantly the gas in several of the ballonets was withdrawn and forced under great pressure into a strong metal tank.

This answered to the old-fashioned method of releasing gas from a balloon by means of an escape valve, but with a vast difference. The hydrogen was not wasted; it was merely stored for further service.

Down dropped the airship to less than a thousand feet. Von Eitelwurmer, leaning over the sill of the large scuttle, peered downwards. By means of a pair of powerful night-gla.s.ses he could locate his position with great accuracy. He recognised most of the conspicuous land marks of Barborough, in spite of their unfamiliar appearance when viewed from a height. There was the town-hall--a pile of smoke blackened stonework. The railway station with its web of steel lines radiating in four different directions; the huge factories, working day and night at high pressure; the main thoroughfares, rendered even more p.r.o.nounced by the blue flashes of the electric tram-cars. The Zeppelin had the town at its mercy.

Ober-leutnant von Loringhoven was also examining the scene beneath him. He had no occasion to consult the spy. He knew quite as much as von Eitelwurmer of the topography of the district; thanks to the accurate air-maps supplied by the German government.

"Now, watch!" he exclaimed, at the same time holding up four fingers as a sign to the airman at the firing apparatus to release the missiles of destruction.

Von Eitelwurmer held his breath. He clearly heard the four metallic clicks as the man released the bombs at quick intervals. Seven seconds after the first had left the dropping apparatus a lurid flash threw the underside of the enormous envelope into an expanse of reflected light. A roar like the concentration of half a dozen thunder peals tore the air, followed by the rumbling of falling masonry. The other explosions took place in rapid succession, causing the Zeppelin to sway and rock in the violently disturbed atmosphere.

The place where the bombs had burst was hidden in a thick pall of smoke and dust. Tongues of red and yellow flames flickered through the vapour.

"Two more," ordered von Loringhoven.

By this time the Zeppelin, forging ahead, was nearly a quarter of a mile from the scene of her first attempt. The objective was a purely conjectural one, for the missiles burst in a street in one of the poorer quarters of the town.

"Two more!"

The two bombs were released, but only one exploded. The other failed to detonate, but the raid was over. In a little over a minute and a half death had been poured upon the unprepared town.

"I can claim the big munitions factory," remarked the ober-leutnant as he telephoned to the navigating gondola for full speed. "Those first four had it to a nicety. The others--well, they did some damage."

The spy smiled.

"Yes; it all helps," he said. "Frightfulness always scores,"

"Realising, as we do, that every English baby is a potential enemy to Germany," added von Loringhoven. "Not necessarily in a military sense, but in the forthcoming commercial war."

Von Eitelwurmer glanced at his companion,

"The forthcoming commercial war," he repeated. "Our Emperor will see to it that there will be no British Empire to threaten our mercantile supremacy."

The commander of the Zeppelin shrugged his shoulders.

"I trust you are right," he rejoined, "but you do not realise the big task in front of us. These Englishmen are only just beginning to bestir themselves. We hoped to have beaten them long ago. Time is no longer on our side, and----"

Then, realising that his digression was bordering upon dangerous lines, he broke off.

"And now, von Eitelwurmer, we are homeward bound. In four hours I hope to shake hands with you on German soil."

The spy merely grunted. He was thinking regretfully of his lost chance in the share of the twenty thousand marks.

CHAPTER VIII

'MIDST THE SCENE OF RED RUIN

FIVE minutes before the fall of the first bomb, Flight-Sub-lieutenant Barcroft alighted from a tram-car in the market square of Barborough.

The stopping of the railway service had upset his calculations, for instead of the train running into Barborough Station it had come to a stand still at Wolderton, a little town five miles from his destination.

"Can't go no further yet awhile, sir," replied a porter in answer to the flight-sub's enquiry. "They say as 'ow Zeps is about, though I fancy they won't come to Lancashire, sir. Don't hold wi' these silly scares mysen."

"Where are we?" asked Barcroft, striving vainly to read the name of the unlighted station. "Wolderton, sir; if you're for Barborough you can get a car just outside. They are runnin', Zep, or no Zep."

The young officer alighted, made his way out of the station and boarded the first northbound car, which in due course deposited him at Barborough--a stranger in a strange land.

"For Tarleigh, sir?" rejoined a policeman to his question. "Matter o' four or six miles. No, sir, you'll not be findin' a taxi to-night, I fancy. Just you go along yon road, take first on your right then straight on till you come to Chumley Old Road. There you'll find a car that'll take you as far as Black Pit Brow, and it'll be forty minutes sharp walking to Tarleigh."

Somewhat bewildered Barcroft set out to follow the constable's directions. He found himself slipping on the rough and greasy setts, jostling people in the darkened streets, and barking his shins against obtrusive door steps. The road was a mean and narrow one--a short cut to a main thoroughfare. A dank unwholesome smell permeated the misty air. It struck the young officer as being worse than the atmosphere of the lower deck of a battleship battened down during a three-days' gale.

Suddenly the darkness was rent by a terrific flash. The light was so dazzling that Barcroft was under the impression that it came from the centre of the street. Stunned by the deafening crash he felt himself lurching against a wall, amidst a shower of broken gla.s.s.

Another explosion followed and then two more. The flight-sub felt the wall of the house rock with the concussions. He was quite prepared to see the building collapse under the impact of the displaced air. Fragments of slates and tiles, mingled with shattered woodwork, hurtled overhead. Gla.s.s tinkled upon the setts. The rumble of falling masonry was added to the uproar, while flames shot up from a mound of debris that a brief instant earlier had been the homes of three English families, and threw a fitful glare upon the scene of destruction.

"Factory explosion, I suppose," thought Barcroft. "Can't be a Zep., or I should have heard her engines."