The Captain of the Air.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVLI, Issue 13, 27 September 1911, Page 50

The Captain of the Air.

By

FRANK SAVILE.

T|Y upon the warm i sand and 'leaned 'back against the rock belli nd her aeemed to express by her pose placid con* ientinent. Sky and sea - were radiant lakes of blue, unclouded and unrippled to the far horizon. U'he >llll Wils ®t ron X* hut the. land , sucked in a' faint breeze from the waters, tossed, it against the headland clilFs, and let it fall to temper the still heal of the dunes. The tide \\a- at the ebb, and the glare burnished the shallows to the gleam of silver, except at the river mouth. Here a line of white marked the ceaseless duel between the salt water and the fresh. .Elsewhere there were no waves; the sea avas silent. And yet intermittently, rising a.nd falling, there came a sound not unlike the (voice of an angry sea, and the girl, as nt approached and receded, raised eyes 'which were watchful and anxious, and clasped and unclasped her hands. Now 6iml again her breath came in a quick 'little pant. A huge bird, as it seemed, was spreading its wings over the expanse of sand, swooping. soaring, sliding in swift islant> through the waste of air, •darting now seaward, now landward, manoeuvring, as it were, in very joy of Hight. The sun-bine was white upon its vast piniou>. Its shadow leaped from ‘dune to dune. In the core of iron stays below the. wings of ’white sat a man, incredibly tiny in comparison with the vast spread of nhe canvas above him. His hands gripped levers: delicately, unhurriedly, he drew them backward' and forward, p‘oising hi- weight this way and that. ‘And the great artificial bird responded with sweeping curves and upward and downward swoops, spurning • the air superbly, soaring and ‘hovering with the triumphant- mastery of a hawk seeking its prey. > When the line of Hight was low and •ieady the girl'.- features relaxed ami her fmg-er- were -till. When it avheeled, in eylcltlen darlings? ]?o'uncc<r towards the earth or leaped skyward, she gasped and the look in her eyes became piteous in its Once, wlien?its shadow enveloped her a- it passed right over her

•head, a cheery laugh rang down to her and a tiny object fell at her feet. She ■picked it up. It was a bunch of violets, still fresh with morning scent. Before she pinned, them to her blouse she ■pressed them to her lips.

The white bird sailed on. curving back towards the land. It rose, circled twice, and then all sound of its passing ceased, l ike an alighting seagull- it slipped silently down a phene <4’ air, rose again an almost height, and at last took the grountl noiselessly. The •girl sighed again: he"r_iface "expressed a radiant eestasv of r?liyJ/~

iShe rose and strolled "‘.towards the enclosure into which it, had disappeared. A 'hyige ' fence ef 1 timber, armed with ■barbed wire entanglements, ringed it in. At each corner a .warning in live languages explained that this guarded the secrets" of tlie Military School of Aviation, and that .entry could only be obtained by^the, express and written permission of the 'commandant. Here and there 'were .huge shells of corrugated iron. In the centre, dominating the whole, stood the tali mast of a wire-less-telegraphy installation. Before she reached the 'barricade a door in it opened and a man in undress uniform came out and walked towards her with eager strides. Her eyes shone. As he reached her she slipped her hands into his with a half-proud, half-shy little gesture of welcome. His eyes answered the .-message in hers. His fingers closed over her palm and held it. “There are 'two sentries giving .us their whole-hearted attention, sweetheart,’' he laughed, “so I must postpone saying good morning for a minute.” {She smiled : she blushed faintly. Then the anxious glance which his appearance had removed suddenly returned. “And father?" she answered. “He will ibe’coming this way directly 'with .Tack. Did you—did you see iiini last night, Hau rance?" JHe .nodded. , . “J '.saw him." lie said, gravely, 'and his lips came together In a line whicli was stern—almost grim. He hesitated. Her ianxig'ty deepened. “Ye's ’"' she ' questioned. ' “Yes?"

He drew her hand under his arm and began strolling towards the shore. ► “He would not 'listen —he would not hear a word,” he said. “He told me that an engagement between you and me was a thing which he refused so much as to consider. He said—and from his point of view it is true enough —'that an officer of Engineers—w r ith no particular prospects outside his position, was not a fit husband for the ■daughter of Arthur Winslow'. He gave

me to understand that that was his last .word on 'the subject."- ’ *’ The colour rose" in her cheeks. . “Not?fit !’k-r Her;J voice was almost . fierce?" 4‘Y'ou, with your" record, not fit for me,‘.with no record at all?" “Military records don’t go far to advance civilian prospects, my darling. .1 gathered that he wishes some day to hear Violet Winslow addressed as ‘My (lady’ or/Your Grace.' To have to allude to her husband as plain Captain Itayner doesn’t at all fit in with his ambition. Besides—”.,, ’ He hesitated again.’ ; /‘Besides 'what ?” 'she cried, and there was almost terror in her voice. “You —- you aren’t going- to give me up, Laitrance?” ■A sand-dune hid'them from the prying sentries. He drew her into his arms, and without words made the one convincing answer which all lovers have used since in Eden Adam wooed Eve. “If that’s all right," she sighed, as she drew back her lips from his, “I don’t mind—anything. But the besides? What is it? Tell me right out- straight!” He shrugged his shoulders. ‘ lie. said I was not a soldier—only an ■acrobat. Then my life was daily at the ■mercy of the wind —or of luck. 1 suppose, in a way of speaking, that was true, too. dearest." She nodded gravely. “I know,” "she answered. “Every time you go up my heart seems to —to (burst, Lauranee. But, then, it’s your duty—l don’t forget that. Jf I’m to be a soldier’s wife 1 must just keep on re•membering it. If I can bear it, what has it (o do with him?” i He shook his head. . - * “No, I think that was-just—it is a thing any father would oppose. But it so -happens that it is no longer an argument in the. case.” i kShe looked puzzled. “How?" she asked. “Yofl .have tn. go on experimenting—you are the man theydepend on to perfect the machines and. Hie system.” . “Yea,” he said. “They are still going to use iny experience. But not in the air. That’s the news. I have got my majority—it will be gaaetted to morrow.

By the regulations no one above the rank of captain is allowed to fly. In -future 1 theorise. Others will practice.” She stopped—she looked incredulous “You are to give up flying—you?" B h 9 ■cried. He nodded, stooped, and. kissed hex again. “Does that please you?" he asked smiling. “Are you and duty goin-r ( 0 C friends—now?”

Every feature on her fa.ee .expressed her ecstasy. “Oh,” ;sh_e . cried, “that makes up far everything! We may liave/tp wait—til! I am of age-we must wait, if father won't give bis permission. But new 1 can wait easily—happily. I don’t think you have ever guessed what it has been to me—to know -what-risks you were taking to see you do fit.” “Perhaps we musn’t ‘blame your fathr-r too much, then. Perhaps he guessed?" (She shook her head. “No,” ..she said, quickly. “Father’s opposition is built on one foundation and.’one alone—Jack.” lie .started —he looked plainly amaz' d. “Jack?" he cried. “Why, we are the best of friends! Ever since 1 allowed him to pay a visit to the Flying School he has adored me.” ■She gave a happy little laugh. “He has—though it’s rather concede! of you. to say so. But don’t misunderstand the, dear. Father’s whole existence is- concentrated on Jack —-he is the ceiitre of his pride. Ho sees in him ah that is to be represented by the name of "Winslow, and in me he secs the sister of that representative—no more and no h ' He wants my husband to be worthy of the gryrtt position of being .laid' brother-in-law—"somebody titled, somebody fainbiis! Ah, you may smile. 1 ■a m not exaggera t ing. 1 h a ve recogni - '■ I it for months.” ■He shook his .head again. '“lsn't that going a little far?” he ; tested. “I don’t think I can sw-i" tha t—whole.” , She smiled. ... “I think you’ve got to, Txturance. Perhips in some future day*, when youy come right out into the limelight owing to your surpassing military talents, y.ow and father will -be reeo,nciled. Fo*' I' 1 ? moment you’ve got to be satisfied with me—just me.” :Td the challenge in her eyes and von* there was only one possible ainswer. tie third.time Eauramc fiaynct sloopj’d and kissed his jvhole-heartcl enjoyment,' \ — - pi 'There was a sound behind them whjj'h can only be descrilied aS a. snarl. Tlip/ Wheeled hastily"and locked. Two flg" rc *

- fre conußg towards them—one a tall, Lev-haired »>«»> the other a boy evii Jlv at boyhood's most cheerful age and bubbling with appreciative laughter. ••Ob Sis!” he bawled, derisively, holding shocked hands in front of his face. man made an impatience gesture r ■• silence He walked straight towards the waiting pair. His steel-blue eyes grim. As he and his companion inie to a halt the latter would have Mizcd Rayner’s hand. The elder man thrust him baek. ••Captain Rayner,” he said, “last night ive had some conversation. Did I not make myself plain ?” --- - • - - Phe other bowed stiffly. “Perfectly plain, " he agreed. "Hut I dicl" not" eon,u'r iii your conclusions. I do not now.” I'l,e new-comer' made another ipipatient gesture; as if he brushed aside something tangible, but unseen:: .' j "If vou persist in this persecution T’ll report”you to your commanding officer!” he cried. ‘TH —I'll break you!” Rayner drew himself up. ■ tic service record will stand your investigation, -Mr Winslow, or anybody rise's? I am persecuting nobody'. Your daughter and I love each other —that is all.” "Love!” Winslow almost stamped his foot. “On her behalf I refuse for her what you are pleased to call love. For my-elf, for my daughter, and for my son ] decline your acquaintance. They hear my orders not to speak to you again!” Die boy gave a sudden startled jump. ■‘What!” he cried. “I'm not to speak to him—to him?” "No,” said his father, coldly 1 . “I do not wish you to endanger your future prospects by an intimacy with a military mountebank! You can go on to the batliing-phwe. Your sister and I will join you when Captain Rayner sees fit to go.” The boy's face grew dark and obstinate. "I wanted him to come and bathe with me—at the river’s mouth,” he muttered. Rayner wheeled towards him sharply. “Not there, Jack,” he said. “It’s fprii.g tide to-day. The water would be up to the higher sands and they would be quick.” W' slow frowned and stepped in front Of the lad. "I am perfectly capable of looking after my own son’s safety,” he sneered;

“so you need not attempt to continue a conversation Aider the guise of solicitude. Thw, let it be understood, is the last word exchanged between myself, my children, and you.”

His daughter looked at him fearlessly. “No!” the said. “Till lam of age I shall continue to obey you father, but lam going to marry LauraiK-e. That is my last word.*’

Winslow made no comment. He stood looking at Rayner in stern, silent expectation.

Rayner looked at Violet. Neither spoke, but the message they exchanged was plain to anybody's reading. Ami

they smiled—confidently. Then, with a ’little gesture towards the boy which expressed friendliness and farewell, the soldier drew back. Still without comment and without a backward look, Winslow motioned his children along the path. Rayner watched them as they passed across the waste of. dunes towards the river, shrugged his shoulders, gave a dreary little laugh, and then smiled again cheerfully. For, as the three figures topped the last sandhill, which would have finally hidden them from his sight, one stopped and a white handkerchief was waved in farewell.

He drew off his cap and swung it round his head. A eheerv yell* was borne upon the bre<»ze—one in wlricli Jack Winslow's tones were defiantly recognisable. Then the three were lost to view. Rayner turned towards the wooden feace, reached it, and passed into the enclosure. He made his way towards a group of men who were employed upon the roof of a hangar. The sentry saluted with a seriousness in which his officer suspected, but could not discover, traces of a grin. On thp sands the three walked silently. Behind his father's back Jack offered his sister the sympathy of a grimace. She

nodded and smiled, but the smile was a watery one. The light seemed io have gone out from the sky. the freshness from the breeze. The future was veiled greyly by those two blank years which intervened before Laurance Rayner could come and claim her for his own. She was nineteen: till she was twenty-one she had to wait —to wait —to wait. The word rang through her brain in a weary monotone. Her dejection found witness in a deep-drawn sigh. Her father looked at her. "If you arc tired, stay here," he sand. “1 will go with Ja’.-k. He is going to

bathe from the rocks al the river headland.’’ Sin* a'■united ijstlesnly. ; •Wery well, s&e aahl, and. as tha others juissed on, sat down upon the wind-swept stretch of grass which marked the limits of the tide. looked at the wooden ramparts of the l-Tying ♦School, and as she looked found a ray of comfort to illuminate the depression, which was fast filling her mind. Laurance was there, and Lima nee's career for the future was safe. After to-day there were to be no more life-risking experiments—the terrifying visions which had ceaselessly filled her imagination were to be things of the past; in future she could take up the day’s paper without tliat choking sense of apprehension which hail been hers every morning of the last six months. That was a surpassing gain—that filled her heart with thankfulness. But two years—two years? 'To one of her age it seemed a very eternity. How i ould she fill all those thousands of hours in which Laurance would hold no part hours in which she was neither to hear his voice, nor meet his smile, nor touch his hand? A little sob escaped her. Her face sank down upo’i the sun-dried grass. Suddenly a sound broke in upon her pre-occupation. borne by the breeze from the direction of the headland. Even at that distance she seemed to reengniso in it an accent of agony or fear. She started to her feet: she listened intently. The sound came again, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was the voice of a man confronted by some sudden stress of despair her father's voire, railing aloud in anguish, sharp and shrill as the shriek of an animal trapped aard hrlph‘ss b-eforp the grim approach of death. She began to run. calling aloud in answer, her feet faltering under the burden of sudden fear. S-he passed a •.-orner of the jutting rocks. She rame to a halt. Another try escaped her: she clapped her hands together in an agony, Indpless, desperate. The tide was turning and the w’hite line of breakers at the river’s mouth was high. Not far short of it ami a full furlong from the river’s liank a dark object moved upon the shallow, ami yet seemed neither to advance nor retire. It beat upon the surface, sending the spray Hying this way and that, but it

Was as if chained to the spot. Cries Mine from it —cries which seemed to Snd her very heart, for the voice was e voice of her brother. But the sounds which had first reached her were not these. They came from other lips which were more heavily burdened, if that were possible, with a weight of despair. Fully dressed and not twenty yards from the land, caught as it were in the jaws of some unseen gin, her father was lighting fiercely to release himself, but as uuavailingly as his son. There was something hideous and incredible in the mystery of this helplessness; it was as if the powers of nightmare had suddenly become incarnate upon this peaceful stretch of strand. The next moment Violet was racing towards the shore; she made as if she too would plunge into the ripples. Bhriekingly, insistently. her father waved her back. ‘‘N*»t you- not you too!" he cried. “The sands have got me—and Jack —and Jack! Run for help! Run to the School the School!” She hesitated, bewildered by his veLenience and her own fear. ‘•But you —you?” *be cried. ‘’Let me come a few yards nearer! Let me try! ’ •’No!” he thundered. “No! It won t Teach nie for hours- hours! But it is rising every minute on Jack! Hun for Heaven’s s‘ike. run! "Every second may jnnke a dilTerence! Run! Run!’ He waved hi* "hand frantically towards the great wireless mast which topped the jbTrcle of the dunes. Pantingly she set Jier face towards it. She tried to concentrate all her powers into speed, but ks she lied across the acres of clinging Band they seemed to widen rather than io narrow between her and her goal. The bent-grass tripped her; she fell. Doggedly she rose to her Jeet and totiered on. Her shoes were filled with the Band; as her feel churned it, it seemed io beat up into her very eyes and blind Jier. Its dry and parching dust filled her mouth. The world had become a mist of dim particles through which the group 4>f buildings loomed unreal and shrouded yvith haze. She tried to call out; sight Seemed to leave her; she could not hear. And then, breaking through the veil if her despair like a sudden sunray hrough a cloud her lover’s voice was- in lier cars, his hand under her arm. She reeled, almost speechless, into the support of his embrace. ‘1 saw you from ‘the hangar roof!” he cried. ‘What is it- what has happened?” Ordered speech was beyond her! she con hl only gasp in syllables. ‘The sands —the sands’” she panted. *A boat —get a boat!” He started. His voice became tense with a new anxiety.

‘The sands?” he repeated, fiercely. *Your father is caught—or Jack?” Hie made a vehement gesture of assent. ‘’Yes!” she whispered. “Yes! A boat •—a boat!” lie wheeled away from her: he raced Lack towards the fence. ‘•’Go back to them go back!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll come — I’ll come!” He disappeared behind the wooden wall, his voice ringing out in loud commands to his men. Suddenly out of the earth. as it seemed to her failing senses, a dozen otlieer- and num were about her. carrying n»pes. questioning her vehemently. Her voice was gone: she could only }K»int feebly towards the shore, urging them with trembling gestures which told their own talc of the need for haste. -They did not hesitate. Two of them lifted her bodily and ran; the rest sped fen ahead, vaguely following the direction of her finger, alert to discover what she had no strength to tell. The sense of nightmare still gripped her. It was as in a dream that she was borne down if he path up which she had stumbled, paw her escort halt upon the edge of safety, anl fling out the rope which they carried to the expectant hinds whkdi twitched for its coming. With the strength of a dozen arms her father was dragged to tier feet. He rose; he gesticulated violently; his voice shrilled into fierce vehemence as the passion of his despaJr tore him. “Half my fortune to the man who Faves him!” he shouted, pointing to the dark figure which still wrestled in the grip of the sands and the advancing tide. Ho seized one of his rescuers by the shoulder. He shook him wr.ithfully. “J Th him you should have Rived, not me!” he cried. “You fools—you fools! Why are you waiting? Where is the Lout—-the boat’** With a restraining gesture the officer laid hia finger* upon the gesticulating ano,

“There is no boat, Mr Winslow,” he said, quietly. “If there were it could not reach your son. No force we coul.l employ would cut a passage for it through—that!” He pointed to the quaking mass which trembled and shafted beneath the suck of the rising tide. He held up his hand. “listen!” he cried, suddenly. “That means rescue if rescue is humanely possible. Be sure of that!” Winslow looked at him with haggard, uncomprehending eyes. Then suddenly he drew himself up tensely. He and all who stood beside him turned their faces eagerly to the sky. Superb against the blue, circling in a vast (mrve (towards the river-mouth, came the aeroplane, the propeller drumming out its message of hope to those below. It swept gracefully over the headland, its shadow falling upon the dark figure which still fought valiantly against the advancing hosts of white. The hiss and thunder of the breakers had deafened Jack Winslow—the sound of the aeroplane's passing did not reach him till its shadow touched his face. A

sudden light of hope leaped into his desperate eyes. And Laurence Rayner’s voice was reassuring—it thrilled the (boy’s heart with confidence. The machine swept round him. From the central stays a rope was trailed. “Be smart, Jack!” The soldier’s tone was brisk and matter-of-fact. “I daren’t go very slow —I must keep moving. But when I come round again—snatch it!” The drone of the engine faded and, then rose in sudden volume. The cord came splashing straight at the boy’s head. (His hands shot up, got a hold, slipped, caught again, and then settled upon a knot tenaciously. The shock sent a wall of spray flying rfrght and left. A gasp went up from the watchers’ lips, for the great white bird rocked and swayed perilously. Then it steadied —caught upon the air grudgingly gained speed—flew, at last, towards them with wide, unfaltering wings. And. dragging like some unseated anchor through the churn of tide and sand came Jack Winslow, whilefaced, set of teeth, holding on (grimly against the grip of the defeated sea, swept back to life again out of the menacing shackles of death.

A queer, gasping cry went up from Mr Winslow's Tips. As o>e ropa and its burden tossed up the spray through the last few yards of shallow, be sprang forward with arms ouatretehed.

A dozen voices called to him warningly —a dozen hands were thrust towards him, but too late. The man had eyes for nothing but. his recovered treasure, no ears for any voice but the one that had been threatened by the eternal silence cf death. He flung his arms about his son.

From above there was a rending crash.

Torn by the suddenly arresting shock, a score of stays parted. The great wings slanted, lost control upon the air, and then were flung upwards by the drag of the descending weight. The stern tilted. With a sullen thud the wounded machine sank upon the crest of a se.ismoothed rock. And the pilot? They found him in the core of the wreckage. He lay still — very, very still. To Laurence Rayner it seemed a long night from which he was waking—one tilled, too, with wonderful dreams. He was not quite sure, indeed, that it was realitv or a vision which confronted

him, so remarkable a sight met his Incredulous gaze. It was Winslow who was staring intently, into his face —Winslow, down whose cheek tears were pouring and whose eyes expressed limitless concern. The soldier blinked and stirred uneasily. He tried to rise. He put out his hand to find support, and noted with dull surprise that his fingers were bruised and bleeding. “Lie still!” said a soft voice. “Please —please lie still!” He looked up. Violet's face bent down to his—Violet’s hand was on his shoulder. Amazement thrilled him. In spite of the restraining band he struggled to his knees and looked round. Immediately opposite him lay a tangle of canvas, stays, and steel. Remembrance carne with a rush. “By Jove!” he deplored sadly. “Our ■best machine!” Winslow made a reassuring gesture. Anxiety was fading from his eyes, to be replaced by intense relief. “That can be paid for—easily,” ho said. “Some things—the risk of a life, unselfishness, valour—can never be repaid; one can only try to offer one's best.” He took Violet’s hand in his and gently closed the bruised fingers upon it. “For a beginning" h« said, humbly, “will you accept—thiat"