It was the first time he had flown across so wide an expanse of sea, and he felt a touch of anxiety lest the engine should break down.  If any accident should happen he had made up his mind that the only thing to be done was to don the lifebuoys, cut the engine loose, and trust to the buoys to keep them and the planes afloat until their plight was observed from some passing vessel.  In the darkness this would, of course, prove a vain hope; even in daylight the chance that a vessel would be in sight was remote.  But the die was cast:  the engine was as yet working perfectly; and in three or four hours, all being well, he would come in sight of land.

There being no obstruction to fear, he kept at a height of only a hundred feet above sea level.  The sea was calm, gleaming like a sheet of silver in the moonlight, so that the aeroplane seemed to fly over a continuous glistening track.  Steadily it flew on; Smith had nothing to do but to sit still, feed the engine with petrol, and keep his eyes alternately on the compass and the stars.

At length, about six o’clock by his watch—­past eleven in the longitude to which he had arrived—­he caught sight ahead of a dark outline on the water, no doubt a group of islands, though whether the Andamans or the Nicobars he did not feel sure.  Knowing that they were all hilly in formation, he slackened speed, intending to run down their coastline rather than cross them.  It would not be difficult to find one of the many channels between them through which he could continue his flight, past the northern end of Sumatra to Penang.  By taking a southerly course, moreover, he would, be able to assure himself of his direction.

After a short run parallel with the coastline he came to a wide channel which he believed to be, and subsequently ascertained to be, the Ten Degree channel between Little Andaman and Car Nicobar.  From this, if he was right, there would be an uninterrupted course south-east to Penang.  But within half-an-hour of entering the channel, still flying low, he suddenly ran into a dense cloud of exceedingly pungent smoke, which completely hid the sea beneath him.  It made him cough, and woke Rodier with a start.

“What’s this, mister?” he shouted, rubbing his eyes.

“Forest on fire,” shouted Smith in reply, though he was surprised to meet with the smoke so far from land as he supposed himself to be.  He hastily planed upwards, in case, by some error of navigation, he had come upon land and might endanger the aeroplane among hills or tree-tops, and also to avoid the risk of explosion from a stray spark.  Still more surprised was he when, after only a few seconds, the aeroplane passed completely through the smoke, and he saw the sea again.  At that instant, just as they reached the windward side of the smoke-cloud, which was evidently blown by an easterly wind, Rodier gave a cry.

“Mon Dieu!  A ship on fire!”

Smith instantly checked the engine, and, swinging round in a narrow circle, saw a dark shape below him from which smoke was pouring up.  There was no flame, but as the aeroplane dropped gently downwards Smith saw that Rodier’s explanation must be correct, the ship being a sailing vessel.