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EXTRACT: Before long the wind rose, blowing strongly from the nor'west. In less than an hour it had increased to half a gale and had veered due east. Vicious white-crested waves were slapping against R19's snub bows and surging in green cascades as far as the base of the conning-tower.
With the exception of the quick-firers everything on deck was battened down. The for'ard gun's crew was ordered aft until their services would be required; even then, duffel suits and oilskins notwithstanding, they stood, hanging on to the stanchion rails, shivering in the icy, salt-laden blast.
The sky, too, was now overcast, while the horizon was frequently obscured by patches of mirk as the rain-clouds scudded rapidly with the wind.
"There she is, sir," shouted one of the seamen.
Although his words were unintelligible in the roar of the elements, his outstretched hand gave an indication that the quarry was in sight. At an altitude of 3000 feet, and battling ineffectually with the gale, was a large Zeppelin—one of the "L" type. She was considerably down by the stern and manoeuvring badly. Two of her five propellers were motionless, while the action of her twin vertical rudders failed to keep her steady against the side-thrust of the remaining propellers. Steadily and surely she was being blown farther and farther away from her base.