Читать книгу Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in France and Belgium. Or, Saving the Fortunes of the Trouvilles онлайн

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Billy crouched in the bow-seat, his eyes fixed on the straining cable. In his right hand he clutched a keen-edged hatchet, passed forward by Freeman. Half drowned by the spray tossed in his face he awaited the word from Henri.

“Say when, old pard,” he cried, slightly turning his head.

“If she pulls straight up and down,” remarked Captain Johnson in Freeman’s ear, “it’s good night.”

The coast line seemed rushing toward the incoming sea-plane, bouncing about in the wide wash.

Henri sighted a friendly looking cove, and excitedly sang out the word for which his chum was waiting:

“Now!”

With the signal Billy laid the hatchet with sounding blows upon the cable—and none too soon the tough strands parted.

The sea-plane with the final snap of the hacked cable dashed into the drift and plowed half its length in the sandy soil. The Zeppelin bobbed away into the gathering dusk.

Following the bump, Captain Johnson set the first foot on the sand. Stretching himself, he fixed a glance of concern on the sea-plane.