CHAPTER IX

EASTWARD HO!

Not all the stern discipline that had been enforced by the Master—­discipline already like a second nature to this band of adventurous men—­could quite prevent a little confusion on board the Eagle of the Sky.

As the huge machine crashed, plunged, staggered, then righted herself and soared aloft, shouts echoed down the corridors, shots crackled from the lower gallery and from a few open ports.

At sound of them, and of faint, far cries from the Palisades, with a futile spatter of pistol-and rifle-fire, the Master frowned.  This intrusion of disorder lay quite outside his plans.  He had hoped for a swift and quiet getaway.  Complications had been introduced.  Under his breath he muttered something as he manipulated the controls.

The major, laughing a bit wildly, leaned from the shattered window and let drive a few last pot-shots into the dark, at the faint flicker of lights along the crest of the black cliff.  In the gloom of the pilot-house, his shoulders bulked huge as he fired.  Captain Alden, staggering back, sat down heavily on one of the sofa-lockers.

One or two faint shots still popped, along the cliff, with little pin-pricks of fire in the dark.  Then all sounds of opposition vanished.  The Nissr, upborne at her wonderful climbing-angle toward the clouds painted by her searchlight—­clouds like a rippled, moonlit veil through which peeped faint stars—­spiraled above the Hudson and in a vast arc turned her beak into the south.

Disorder died.  Silence fell, save for the whistling of the sudden wind of the airship’s own motion, and for the steadily mounting drone of the huge propellers.

“Made it all right, by God!” exclaimed Bohannan, excitedly.  “No damage, either.  If the floats had smashed when they hit the gate, there’d have been a devil of an explosion—­vacuum collapsing, you know.  Close call, but we made it!  Now, if—­”

“That will do!” the Master curtly interrupted, with steadfast eyes peering out through the conning windows.  Now that the first elan of excitement had spent itself, this strange man had once more resumed his mantle of calm.  Upborne on the wings of wondrous power, wings all aquiver with their first stupendous leap into the night-sky, the Master—­impassive, watchful, cool—­seemed as if seated in his easy-chair at Niss’rosh.

“That will do, Major!” he repeated.  “None of your extravagance, sir!  No time now for rodomontade!” He glanced swiftly round, saw Captain Alden by the dim aura of light reflected from the instrument-board.  Blood reddened the captain’s left sleeve.

“Wounded, Captain?”

“Only a scratch!”

“Report to Dr. Lombardo.  And have Simonds, in charge of the stores, replace this broken pane.”

“Yes, sir!”