The state of his cabin hardly troubled Fosterdyke. He never even went to investigate the extent of the damage, for the moment the airship's motors were re-started he hastened back to the navigation-room.

"Got a fix yet, Bramsdean?" were his first words.

Peter handed him a slip of paper.

"Well out of our course, sir," he remarked.

The position was given as lat. 3° 15' 20" S., long. 58° 20' 5" E.

"We are," agreed Fosterdyke gravely. "Well to the west'ard. We ought to be within sight of the Seychelles."

"Any chance of getting petrol there, I wonder?" asked Bramsdean. "Judging by the name it seems a likely place to get 'Shell brand.'"

"Don't prattle, Peter," exclaimed Kenneth, facetiously.

Fosterdyke laughed at the joke.

"Rotten puns, both of them," he said. "All the same I wish we had another two hundred gallons of 'Pratt's' or 'Shell' or any other old brand of petrol. But it's no use going still farther out of our course on the off-chance of getting juice, so we'll just carry on."

With the passing of the cyclone the wind fell light. What little there was was dead aft. The sea, viewed from an altitude of three thousand feet, appeared as smooth as glass, although in reality there was a long rolling ground swell.

In order to economise the petrol consumption the speed of the "Golden Hind" was reduced to ninety miles an hour. Should the favouring wind hold, the airship stood a good chance of making the Australian coast. If it changed and blew from the south-east, then Fosterdyke's chances of winning the race would be off.

Just before eleven o'clock in the morning of the day following the storm, Frampton, one of the crew on duty in the navigation-room, reported a boat about three miles away on the port bow.

By the aid of glasses it was seen that the boat was a ship's cutter moving slowly under sail in an easterly direction. Her crew were hidden from view by a spare sail rigged as an awning over the stern sheets.

"Something wrong there," remarked Bramsdean. "A small boat hundreds of miles from the nearest land requires some explanation. Inform Sir Reginald, Frampton; tell him I propose coming down within hailing distance."

Before Fosterdyke could reach the navigation-room the noise of the "Golden Hind's" aerial propellers had attracted the attention of the occupants of the cutter, and six or seven men, whipping off the awning, began waving strips of canvas and various garments.

Slowing down and descending to fifty feet, the airship approached the boat. The latter was hardly seaworthy. Her topstrake had been stove in on the starboard side, and had been roughly repaired by means of a piece of painted canvas. Her sails were patched in several places, while in default of a rudder she was being steered by means of an oar.

"Poor chaps! Look at them!" ejaculated Kenneth. "They're almost done in."

The boat's crew were indeed in desperate straits. They were ragged, gaunt, and famished. Their faces and hands were burnt to a brick-red colour with exposure to the wind and tropical sun. Three of them, seeing that help was at hand, had collapsed and were lying inertly on the bottom-boards.

Viewed from a height of fifty feet the length of the ocean rollers became apparent. The sea was not dangerous, since there were no formidable crests to the long undulations, but there was considerable risk of the lightly built fuselage sustaining damage should the boat surge alongside. On the other hand, it was almost a matter of impossibility to get the men on board otherwise than by the airship descending and resting on the surface. Obviously they were far too weak to attempt to climb the rope-ladder, while the use of bowlines was open to great objection both as regards the length of time and the risk of injury to the rescued men.

Being a ship's boat the cutter was provided with slinging gear. The question was whether in her damaged state the boat would break her back in being hoisted; but Fosterdyke decided to take the risk.

Accordingly wire hawsers were lowered from the two bow-hawser pipes, and by dint of careful manoeuvring the shackles were engaged. Then, under the lifting power of additional brodium introduced into the for'ard ballonets, the "Golden Hind" rose vertically until the boat was clear of the water. The motor winches were then started and the cutter hauled up until her gunwales were almost touching the underside of the airship's nacelle.

One by one the exhausted men were taken on board the airship by means of the hatchway through which Kenyon had gone to the rescue of Enrico Jaures. This done, two of the "Golden Hind's" men dropped into the boat and passed slings round her. When these took the weight of the cutter the wire hawsers were unshackled and the two men clambered back to the airship, which had now risen to nearly a thousand feet. One end of each sling was then slipped, and the boat, falling like a stone, splintered to matchwood as she struck the surface of the sea.

The seven rescued men were given food and drink in strictly moderate quantities. Vainly they begged for more, but Fosterdyke knew the danger of starving men being allowed to eat and drink their fill. Nor did he attempt to question them at that juncture, beyond ascertaining that there were no more boats belonging to their ship. They were put into bunks and made to sleep.

It was not until ten o'clock on the following morning that four of the rescued men put in an appearance in Fosterdyke's cabin. The remaining three were too ill to leave their bunks.

They were, they said, the sole survivors of the American barque Hilda P. Murchison, thirty days out from Albany, Western Australia, and bound for Karachi. Three hundred miles east of the Chagos Archipelago an explosion took place, but whether external or internal the survivors did not know. One of them thought it might have been a mine. But it was severe enough to sink the Hilda P. Murchison in less than five minutes, and the sole survivors were the first mate and six hands of the duty watch, who managed to scramble into the only boat that had not been shattered.

Without food and with only a small barrico of water, they set off to make their way back to Australia, knowing that with the prevailing winds they stood a much better chance of making land there than if they attempted a three-hundred-mile beat to windward, with the risk of missing the Chagos Archipelago altogether.

That was eight days ago. They contrived to exist upon raw fish, tallow candles--which they found in a locker--and half a pint of water per man per diem.

Once they sighted a vessel, but their signals for assistance were unnoticed. Then they encountered a white squall, the tail end of a storm that ripped their sails before they could stow canvas, and carried away the rudder.

The blow was succeeded by a flat calm. For hours the cutter drifted idly, her roughly repaired sails hanging listlessly in the sultry air. Almost overcome by hunger, fatigue, and the tropical heat, they were on the point of despair when the timely arrival of the British airship snatched them from a lingering death.

"I hope we'll be able to set you ashore at Fremantle within the next eight or ten hours," said Fosterdyke. "Meanwhile we'll get in touch with the wireless station there and report your rescue. Oh, yes, you may smoke in the for'ard compartment, but you'll find this ship as 'dry' as the land of the Stars and Stripes."

During the rest of the day progress was well maintained. The westerly breeze increased to half a gale, which meant an addition of thirty to forty miles an hour to the airship's speed. Barring accidents the "Golden Hind" would reach Fremantle with petrol still remaining in her tanks.

"It's not often one gets a westerly wind in the Twenties," observed the baronet. "South-east Trades are the usual order of things. We're lucky. Normally we should have to go as far south as 40° to rely upon a westerly wind."

"It will help us from Fremantle to New Zealand," said Peter. "I remember reading in the paper not so many months ago of the skipper of a sailing vessel who tried for days to beat up from Melbourne to Fremantle. Finally he gave up beating to wind'ard as a hopeless job, so he turned and ran before the westerly breeze, sailed round the Horn and the Cape of Good Hope, and actually arrived at Fremantle several days before another vessel that had left Melbourne at the same time as he did."

"Let's hope we'll find an equally favouring wind to help us across the Pacific," remarked Fosterdyke. "We'll want it."