With her full crew and equipment, the GV 7 "took-off" magnificently, the enormous fabric answering quickly to the controls. Compared with the old Dromedary, with its short wing-spread and stumpy fuselage, the battleplane was as a battleship is to a cruiser. There was an almost complete freedom from lack of space, which contributed in no small degree to comfort, although all controls were within easy distance of the pilot. Before the machine was over the English coast, an altitude of seven thousand feet was attained. In the clear atmosphere, the low cliffs of France were clearly discernible. It seemed as if a small silvery streak of water--which to the ordinary traveller to the Continent is an object of dread--was a very negligible quantity. By air, Great Britain and France, one-time sworn foes, were to be united in a bond of mutually self-sacrificing friendship. GV 7 proved herself to be an exceptionally rapid climber, rising at a steep angle without evincing any tendency towards side-splitting. As steady as a rock, she settled down to her flight across the silvery streak of the English Channel, and, although throttled down, her speed was not far short of ninety miles an hour. Within five minutes of passing over the coastline, the observer called Derek's attention to a mere speck on the waters. By the N.C.O.'s manner, it was evident that something was amiss. "Boche 'plane up to mischief, sir," reported the man by means of the voice-tube. "Steamer getting it hot, I fancy." Without hesitation Daventry dived steeply, the men standing to their machine-guns and bomb-dropping gear. By the aid of glasses the speck, which was momentarily increasing in size, resolved itself into a large tramp steamer. She had just starboarded her helm in order to maintain a zigzag course, while clouds of smoke pouring from her funnels indicated that the engineers and stokehold staffs were hard at work in their efforts to shake off pursuit. [Illustration: GV 7 TO THE RESCUE!] "'Tis a Boche 'bus!" exclaimed the observer, as a circular cloud of white smoke shot up a few feet astern of the tramp. "By Jove, what a beauty!"