It was time to give the ship a different course; and once again below them lay the wide expanse of sombre, tossing sea. But the _Bladud_ now encountered the strength of a growing gale from the North-East, and soon it became apparent that she was being dangerously deflected from her proper course. It was a discovery silently made, but fraught with the fears of potential disaster. If they should be blown out to sea, there was but one ultimate certainty--death for all on board. The store of motive power could only last for a given number of hours, and already much of the power had been expended. Their hope must lie in reaching dry ground within a period that grew perilously shorter and shorter even while they thought of it. Entrusting the helm for a moment to the passenger, Herrick crawled forward, and while the rising gale shrieked above them and around them, held a hasty, whispered conversation with the now excited engineer. "We'll never do it, sir, we'll never do it," Wilton said, hoarsely. "St. Margaret's Bay; Why, see! we've left it far behind already. No landing there to-night. What's the best air-ship that ever was built against a wind like this?" "Land us anywhere, anywhere," was Herrick's vehement answer. "Yes, if we can," muttered Wilton, gloomily. "I'm afeard there's something wrong with her, and that's the truth, Mr. Herrick." "Good God!" exclaimed Herrick, with an anxious glance towards the figure in the stern. "See that?" gasped the engineer, as a strong gust from the north drove the bow of the boat farther sea-ward. "See that, sir? I tell you, she can't stand it." Again and again the same thing happened. The gale, so far as it was easterly, drove them westward along the coastline, and ever and again the fierce gusts from the north forced them away from it. Linton crept back to the stern. Thirty minutes passed--minutes of increasing suspense. At the end of that time they had lost their bearings. The _Bladud_ became more and more beyond control. "Is there danger?" Renshaw asked the question very softly. "I am afraid there is, sir," said Linton. The other nodded: "I thought so. What part of the coast is that down there?" he asked after an interval. Linton peering over, pondered a minute before he answered: "Dover's left far behind by this time. We've passed Hastings. Those must be the lights of Brighton." "We can't get down?" "Impossible at present. We must drive straight ahead. Inside the Isle of Wight there'll be a chance for us--more shelter and more ships. Wilton knows that part." "Can we last as long?" "I think so--I hope so." A long silence fell as the _Bladud_ battled with the wind. Then there came a startling, rending sound that indicated some defect in the machinery. The boat began to veer erratically. "Steady, sir, steady," roared Wilton, making a trumpet of his hands. "For God's sake head her north!"