Ask anyone who knows, and he will tell you that there is nothing to compare to the zest of the aerial flight. Those contemplating it for the first time view it with mixed feelings of trepidation and anticipation, but once in flight there is only unbounded exhilaration. The experience is like that of throwing off shackles which have bound one to a narrow earthly existence; mere human cares and worries are for the time at least forgotten, and one feels the freedom of the birds and glows with the very pleasure of it. Fears which beset the preliminaries are forgotten; the imagination is awakened with new ambitions; life seems to hold forth previously unthought-of possibilities. And the real joy of it all is that the aerial flight never loses its thrill, never fails in these and new sensations.
Add to this the mystery contained in their unexpected summons to Washington, and the natural pride stirred by the anticipation of being called upon for some important service, and you have some realization of the feelings which animated these four young men as, at a cruising speed of ninety miles an hour, they continued their voyage southward, a mile and a half in the air, two miles out to sea from the shore line, looking like a giant eagle in the sky to those who discovered or discerned them at all.
As for personal comfort, they were as free from the driving wind as though they had been riding in a limousine automobile, for indeed this was a limousine airship, thoroughly enclosed as concerned the Nacelle, or cock-pit and fusilage, which contained the crew and access to every part of the engine, radio, etc.
Occasionally Fred would catch snatches of wireless messages, but mostly they were of a commercial and therefore uninteresting character.
It was about midnight when they came within that sky glow which informed them that they were approaching the metropolis of America—New York.
"Think of the damage a bomber could do, and the consternation it could raise down there," said Don. "Let's circle around two or three times, just for the fun of it. We've got plenty of time now."
And they did. Cutting inland, they crossed almost directly over the heart of the city, continued over the North River and above Hoboken, swung down and around Newark, out over the bay and then upward toward the big city again, as though actually bent upon a mission of mischief.
Again they repeated this, and then swerved out over Brooklyn and above the open sea again.
A little more than an hour elapsed and they were above Philadelphia. It lay like a great black splotch on the ground, the meagre moonlight playing on the Delaware in a way to make it look like a great thread of silver. Only a winding line indicated where the Schuylkill cut the city in two, but where it joined the Delaware the latter began to widen, and from the height of the plane they could see far below to where the river became a bay.
Ships dotted it here and there like little spiders resting on a pool. Nothing moved. It was like a fairy visit to another and a dead world.
The bay itself was so smooth that they decided to drop there for a few minutes, open their thermos bottles of coffee, which was still hot, eat a couple of sandwiches at leisure, and then continue the trip. Finally finding a spot so remote from any ship that it was unlikely that their descent would be discovered, and thereby perhaps raise a furore of excitement and speculation as to who they were and what they were doing there at that queer time, they made their landing with such ease as hardly to cause a splash as they settled on the surface of the water.
The inner man satisfied, they prepared for the continuance of their trip. There was a swift inspection of every part of the plane, and in another ten minutes they were again under way, the firing of the engines sounding like a miniature artillery bombardment on the stillness of the night.
As they rose with the speed and strength and sureness of a giant eagle, they left the city of William Penn far behind, noted the spot which indicated Lewes, Delaware, as it seemed to flit swiftly beneath them on the flank of the lower bay, then passed Cape May and were out over the open sea again. The moon was now disappearing and it devolved upon Don Harlan, the navigator of the crew, by chart and compass and air-speed indicator (whose information, by the way, is always problematical, for reasons which will be explained in a moment), to guide them safely to their destination.
Now as to one of the present grave difficulties with which the navigators of the air have to contend, especially when flying over bodies of water, which, unlike flights over the ground, give no "landmarks" by which position may be determined.
If there is, let us say, no wind whatever blowing, either with or against the direction of the plane, the air-speed indicator will register one hundred miles per hour speed when the plane is traveling at that rate. But let the plane, with its engines running at the same power, get into the teeth of a seventy-five-mile-an-hour gale, and with a seventy-five mile push back to a hundred mile an hour forward push of the engines, the speed-indicator will still register one hundred miles per hour (that is, air-speed), although the plane will actually be traveling a distance of only twenty-five miles per hour with relation to the ground.
In other words, it is the principle of air pressure, and if there is no adverse air pressure, the indicator will show the exact speed of the plane. But the moment the plane is either augmented or retarded by favorable or unfavorable winds, the air-speed indicator becomes a very unreliable instrument for showing distances traveled: it practically only records the speed of the air pushed past the plane. It is like running at ten miles an hour with a pin-wheel in the hand on a perfectly calm day, and getting a certain velocity of revolutions of the wheel per minute. On another day one might stand still with the pin-wheel and permit the rush of a high velocity of wind to twirl it round with the same speed.
And here is a hint to our youthful readers who are interested in mathematics and things mechanical: Sometime somebody is going to invent an instrument which will record an aeroplane's actual speed with relation to the distance covered above the ground; in other words, which will actually show a speed of only twenty-five miles an hour when a hundred-mile-an-hour engine speed is being reduced to twenty-five by a head-on seventy-five-mile-an-hour gale; and the one who succeeds with that invention not only will make for himself a fortune, but then may turn his attention to the devising of another instrument, equally important, which will show how far a side wind is driving a plane out of its course.
But Don Harlan had trained long and studiously to combat and conquer just such difficulties, and like the seasoned sailor who can look at a clear sky and seem to smell a storm brewing, or a squall coming, he had learned, by some intuition which he could not even attempt to explain, to estimate with almost miraculous accuracy to just what extent the wind was retarding them or blowing them off their course.
He was bending over his charts now, marking off their course, registering the slight wind deviation, when an exclamation from Fred, who sat at all times with the radio earpieces on, attracted the attention of all. With Big Jack and Andy Flures, the pilots, it was indicated merely by the briefest turning of the head, but Don stopped short in his work to watch Fred jotting down a message that was coming mysteriously out of the night.
"Official dispatch," he announced a moment later.
"Follow previous instructions. One remain with plane, other three at my office nine if possible. Repeat."
It was signed by Bronson, head of the air service.
Fred threw on the switch of the radio and opened up with the code call. Almost immediately he got a response. He repeated the message, and then gave their approximate location as Don had plotted it out.
There was a considerable delay, during which they concluded that the dispatch was being telephoned to General Bronson, and then the answer came, "Good work," and out of the silence of the night there was recorded no more.
The balance of their journey was without incident, but every turn of the propeller, every explosion within the cylinders, it might be said, gave them renewed confidence that when they essayed the ocean flight, if that should be their privilege or their mission, they would do so with a machine as near to perfection as modern engineering could make it.
It was hardly dawn when they settled on the surface of the Potomac, and, with the time still left them made a cursory overhauling of their engine in search of any weaknesses or defects. They found none. It was as though the long trip from Halifax to Washington had been merely a warming-up, preliminary to some real test of staunch durability.
It was immediately and amicably decided that Fred, because of his knowledge of the wireless, which might catch some message relating to their disappearance from Halifax and thus tell them what was being speculated about them, should remain with the plane, while the other three changed into the presentable "cits," or civilian clothes, they had brought with them, and carry out the balance of the instructions concerning meeting General Bronson at nine o'clock at his office.
We know what they were to be told, and it did not take General Bronson, a man noted for his brevity, long to impart to them the fact that they were to undertake a mission which, considered in all its phases, was absolutely without precedent.
"We will now go and meet the members of the Cabinet," he said.
In fifteen minutes they were in the presence of the men who had directed the various services of the Government during the greatest war in the world's history. They were introduced, most critically looked over, and asked a few, but a very few, questions. Then the Assistant Secretary of State gave them their final instructions.
"You understand thoroughly the importance of these papers?" he asked.
"Absolutely, sir," Big Jack replied, and the other two nodded affirmatively.
"Very well, then," the Assistant Secretary of State replied. "The continued peace of the world may hinge upon your success. There must be no failure. You will guard these papers with your lives. I hand them to you in the presence of the members of the Cabinet. Deliver these at Paris."
Accustomed as they were to excitement and thrills, it was with an exuberance which they could not entirely submerge or control that Big Jack, Don and Andy Flures repeated their instructions to Fred Bentner.
"We return at once to Halifax," Jack continued, "replenish oil and petrol, mount a machine gun which already has been ordered there for us by wireless, and which will be secretly put into the hangar, so that no one will begin gossiping, and then we're off."
"Weather permitting, of course," suggested Fred.
"The international crisis is not being affected by the weather," Jack answered. "Only an impossible brand will prevent our getting away just as soon as we are ready. This is not to be a test flight under the most favorable conditions, but under whatever weather happens to prevail, once we get under way."
"Whew!" ejaculated Fred. "This isn't to be any play or sporting contest."
"It most certainly is not," said Andy. "And it's very likely to develop into one of the toughest jobs we ever tackled, for more reasons than one."
"Relate them," Fred urged.
"Well," Andy continued, "why, for instance, the machine gun? These fellows in Washington are not given to useless delays or to heroics. Their attitude was mighty serious, and although they didn't mention it, I grasped that there might be interests which, if they knew we had these documents, might go a mighty long way to come into possession of them, or at least prevent their being presented at the Peace Conference in time to accomplish their purpose."
"You're right," said Don, seeming to catch the full significance of their possible difficulties for the first time. "By golly, I never gave that a thought."
"Well, all of us may before we're over," said Andy.
But by now they were ready for their return flight to Halifax, from which it was necessary that they make their start, though for new reasons developed in the foregoing conversation, all of them wished that it might be possible to begin their flight from another and less prominent place.
Back over almost the identical route they had traveled on their journey to the capital, they flew the return trip, passing Philadelphia and New York by daylight, however, at such a tremendous height that they were practically lost to view, coming along the rugged coast of lower New England as darkness began to close in on them.
Dense clouds entirely obscured the moon, and of necessity they reduced speed to "feel their way" against the strong east wind which tended to drive them inland.
"It looks bad for a start tomorrow," Jack said, as he glanced at the barometer which showed a downward tendency.
"That'll change as we get further north, if I'm not mistaken," said Don, casting a keen glance downward. "What's the altimeter show?"
"We're up about 2300," Andy answered, reading the register of their height.
Don again measured the angle between due north, as indicated by the compass, and their line of direction as shown by the longitudinal line of the plane. It showed that unconsciously in the dense blackness of the night they were again bearing inland.
A few brief words from the navigator, and there was a slight increase of speed, accompanied by a bank and outward turn, and then, as the mist on the glass-encased nacelle showed they were on the cloud line, a drop of a couple of hundred feet.
As they passed the rugged coast of Maine they could hear great waves pounding on the rocky shore, but it came up to them only dimly against the throbbing of their engines and the soothing song of the resistless propellers.
Dawn found them above a coast line which none of them knew. It was bleak and barren, with no evidences of population upon it.
"Just as I reckoned," said Don, easily. "The wind got behind us stronger than we knew. We've more than covered our destination. We're heading for Labrador, and, at this rate, the North Pole."
The navigator was right. They banked and turned, and in three hours came within sight of welcome Halifax.
They made an easy descent and rolled their machine onto the portable skids to take it into the hangar.
But so easily and logically had Big Jack explained their apparent purpose in being away that there was nothing more than an ordinary curiosity about them on their return.
"Took it easy," Andy explained to one pilot who started inquiries. And then, as though in reality he was trying to hide some defects which had developed: "We stopped two or three times, of course, to look her over, or we would have been back sooner."
The other pilot tried to hide a smile. Andy had succeeded beyond measure. Before noon they heard whisperings of the weaknesses their plane had developed while out.
But while this speculation was running the gamut of the aero field, the four youths were working with all the speed they knew how to expend, to get the machine gun mounted, store aboard the necessary fuel and oil for the long and hazardous trip, stock up with two days' provisions, and get their rounds of ammunition and other incidentals in place.
It was two o'clock that afternoon when Big Jack, with a final critical survey, announced everything complete.
Don went to the door and glanced out. There were not more than four or five persons in sight anywhere, and none of them near. It was instantly decided that the propitious moment was at hand. The four of them got behind the big plane, mounted upon its portable skids, and threw their weight against the well-balanced craft. But at that it was about all they could do to get it started, for in addition to its own weight, the plane carried four and a half tons of petrol, oil, ammunition, machine gun and rations.
Once started, however, the momentum made the job a comparatively easy one. Glancing sideways, they could see that one or two men had stopped at a distance to watch them. Apparently satisfied, however, that at most it was to be nothing more than another trial spin, they soon passed on.
The giant bird-like machine was now floating on her own pontoons on the surface of the none-too-smooth water.
"Ready?" asked Jack, curtly.
"All set," the quick answer came back.
"Then," said Big Jack, in steady measured tones, as he grasped the throttle which flyers know as the "joy stick", "we're off."
The engines banged, the propellers whirled, the stately craft glided down the waters with rapidly increasing speed, and in a few moments rose majestically into the air.
Like a bird loosed from its cage, it swerved about in an ever-widening circle, and then, to the manner of a homing pigeon picking up the scent, it turned its nose toward Europe and soon was lost to sight.
In the exhilaration of the "hop-off" the men had forgotten the difficulties that might lie ahead.
Could they have looked backward through a telescope as powerful as the one which was trained upon them they would have seen four strangers standing intently in the doorway of that which had been Henryson's hangar, while within three mechanics worked furiously while two other men with equal haste were putting aboard supplies almost identical with those on the plane which already was under way.
And could they have diagnosed this activity they would have known that Germany had had not yet given up all hope—that a last desperate effort was to be made to divide the Allies and to align Japan with the Huns.
They might have guessed then that this effort would be directed toward intercepting or delaying the all-important documents now on their way to the Peace Conference by a Transatlantic service never before attempted.
But if the lads against whom their menace, their malice and their machinations were directed were not aware of the activities of these German spies and servants, the Secret Service of the United States was, and its watchful eye was upon them—more cleverly discerning than ever the eye of Constabule Allerson had been in following the movements and thwarting the purposes of that agent of evil, Henryson.
And even as these Hun tools now were watching the American plane disappear over the horizon, so two Government agents, from the secret recesses of the long abandoned Coast Guard storehouse were observing their every movement by the aid of two pairs of strong marine glasses.
Apparently mere curiosity-seekers and hangers-on around the scene of the proposed Transatlantic hop-off, these two men had been constantly on guard, and as a matter of fact, to continue the concealment of their own identity, had apparently unconsciously dropped the tip which had first put Captain Allerson close on the trail of the incendiary and plane-fixer, Henryson.
So it was that within the next ten minutes one of the two, first making certain that he was unobserved, hurriedly left the rear of their hiding-place, leaving his companion there to continue the vigil while he took a circuitous route and a little later, in what seemed to be the most aimless manner, and with a vacant grin on his face like the veriest bumpkin, strolled up to the hangar where all these hasty preparations were going forward.
The man on the door, who gave all the evidence of merely loafing there, but who in reality was an eagle-eyed "look-out," saw the apparent backwoodsman approaching and returned his grin with a scowl.
"Howdy?" the disguised Secret Service man saluted, evidencing an intent to enter into conversation.
"Same to you; what d'you want?" the man on the door returned sharply.
"Nothin', less you got a spare chaw on ye," the other replied.
"Don't chew," came the surly reply.
"Smoke?" The agent, entirely ignoring the other's tone and manner, produced and offered a pouch of tobacco.
The man on the door was by this time approaching a rage. Also the other man by this time had gained a position from which he could see almost the entire interior of the hangar. It was as he suspected, although he gave no evidence of even understanding what was going on within. They were preparing for the flight!
"Look here," said the irate look-out testily, rejecting the proffered pouch, "I like my own tobacco best, same as I like my own company best."
"H'm," exclaimed the Secret Service man, vacantly, as though trying to interpret the significance of this subtle sarcasm. "Wall," he opined finally, "thar's all sorts o' tobacco, same's thar's all sorts o' comp'ny, an' thar's no accountin' fer the queer tastes some people has."
He strolled on, leaving the look-out fuming. In ten minutes he was back giving his colleague a good laugh at what had taken place. However, they had little time for the amusing side of their experiences, for theirs was a serious work—as serious in its way as was that of our four friends in another, and the efforts of all were directed toward getting those secret and highly important documents to the Peace Conference without molestation and before there was an open rupture there.
And all this while the crew entrusted with this important work was cutting across the Atlantic, putting mile after mile between the 600-horsepower dual-motor hydroplane and the shores of America.
A hasty conference brought the two Secret Service men to the conclusion that no time should be wasted in reporting to headquarters just what the situation was. So at different times, and taking different routes, they strolled toward the center of town, where one of them entered the telegraph office and sent off, to a certain Henry Billings, on "F" Street, Washington, D. C., this apparently commonplace message: "Lumber all shipped; expect to leave here tonight."
To Billings, otherwise the head of the Secret Service, who now was in constant touch with members of the Cabinet, it carried a more pertinent import, for it told him that the plane which they already had learned might be used to pursue the Transatlantic messengers had been made completely ready and probably would put out that evening
The Cabinet was hastily called together in special meeting, and the summons also brought General Bronson, head of the air service. But after all, what was there to be said? The die had been cast, so to speak, and the lads now were far out over the ocean, with no alternative but to continue the race at top speed to prevent a meeting with the enemy plane, which doubtless would attack with any weapon and under any circumstance advantageous to itself.
"There is nothing to do but to try at once to get in touch with them by wireless," announced General Bronson. "They are not fools, and although nothing was said to them on this phase of the subject, they probably realized that they were not given a machine gun to mount, with plenty of rounds of ammunition, for nothing."
"Wireless them, then," ordered the Secretary of War briefly. "Give them an outline of the exact situation."
Long ago the men in the giant plane out over the ocean had sailed eastward into the night. Darkness was settling about the national capital, the streets were crowded with homeward-bound throngs of shop and business people, as General Bronson jumped into a waiting taxicab, and, with an abrupt order to the uniformed man at the wheel, was shot through the city and beyond its limits, toward the great Government wireless station, in violation of every traffic regulation that ever had been laid down for the District of Columbia.
"R-S-7," he fairly shouted at the operator before he was fully into the radio room. "R-S-7, quick."
The operator, realizing whom this call was for and that something really urgent must be in the wind to so disturb the usually imperturbable General Bronson, threw on his switch and began sending out through the ether successive repetitions of the aeroplane's code call, "R-S-7"—"R-S-7"—"R-S-7"—"R-S-7."
For twenty minutes this was kept up, while the perspiration stood out upon the brow of the man who had declared upon his reputation that these four, of all the men in the air service, were the most competent for the fulfilling of the delicate and dangerous task which had been imposed upon them. He paced the floor back and forth, stopping now and then by the operator, but saying nothing.
Presently the radio man ceased tapping with the key which with every contact seemed to release a streak of blue lightning from the delicately tuned apparatus above their heads. He was listening intently. Something had taken his entire attention.
"Have you got them?" General Bronson finally demanded, unable longer to control his impatience.
"Somebody's picked us up, and they're trying to say something, but I can't catch it," the operator at length answered, still straining to hear the faintest and almost indistinguishable tap-taps which at intervals came to his trained ear.
He arose abruptly and strode across the room. There he pulled a lever, turned a switch, and then resumed his seat, hastily clapping on the earpieces again.
His features began to relax. He reached for the sending key, then apparently changed his mind and grasped a pencil and pad of paper. But before he could begin to write his countenance fell, and he turned wearily toward the anxiously waiting General.
"Had them then, I'm sure," he said, "but lost them the next second."
"It's their speed," the General asserted quickly. "Probably they can get you all right, because you're sending with more power. Tell them to slow down and repeat their message."
The operator followed these instructions, and a few seconds later looked up smiling. Straining to catch every click recorded in his ear, he wrote:
"Fully understand—ready for emergency—constant watch and full speed—Bentner."
"Ask them their position now," the General snapped out.
"Ask them their Position now!" the General Snapped Out.
The radio operator began sending again, but there was no response, and repeated efforts were unsuccessful.
"They're probably pounding out for Europe at the best speed that the craft will develop now," the operator finally announced. "And if they are, their spark plugs will sufficiently divert the radio to prevent their message carrying this far."
The General eyed him for an instant in amazement, started to say something and then apparently changed his mind. He turned to go.
"If you hear from them again, 'phone me instantly," he said. "I'll be at my office throughout the night."
"Yes, sir," the operator responded respectfully, and resumed his position at the radio.
Even with the present practicability of the aeroplane, equipped with every known invention and device for expediting and safeguarding flights, a Transatlantic air voyage is something not to be regarded lightly, nor indeed to be undertaken at all, except by the hardiest and most courageous of men, endowed with a supreme fatalism and an all-enduring self-confidence.
With the fall of darkness, just as had been expected and reported by the Secret Service operatives who were watching the rapidly-unfolding developments there, the enemy plane, equally as well equipped and perhaps as powerful as the other, had put off in pursuit only a few minutes after the wireless went out from Washington in warning of that expected eventuality.
And quickly following the enemy departure had gone another radio, informing the leading plane of that fact. The message had been received, and indeed a reply had been sent; but it had dissipated itself in the air and had never reached the delicately-tuned instrument at which an operator sat breathless, seeking to catch the faintest sound wave.
Why had not the pursuing plane been stopped? The answer was clear. It was on Canadian soil. To have even attempted to intercept her would have entailed an almost endless and detailed explanation to the Canadian authorities, and this in turn would have required a full revelation of the lengths to which the American Government was going to maintain world stability of peace.
Even in the interim the plane probably would have departed, but at any rate all these considerations had been weighed hastily but carefully in Washington and the final decision was to leave everything to the lads in the leading plane, depending upon their skill as aviators, their courage as fighters, if events reached that stage, their ingenuity as Americans to accomplish successfully their given task and get the documents to Paris.
What, then, of the four young men who, compelled to contend with all the natural and inevitable and manifold difficulties of such an endeavor, by this time found themselves required to watch for an enemy from behind, while facing from the front what threatened to become a terrific storm, driving on toward them even as they drove into it?
Although Don Harlan, alert every second of the time, and aided by Fred Bentner, who now could do nothing unless they picked up the radio of some ship, had carefully charted every mile of their course thus far, and knew, according to the compass, that they were still headed right, some strange intuition told him that the rising wind was blowing them further off their course than they realized, and in a direction where they might expect even worse and continued bad weather.
A delicately balanced level told him that for hours they had maintained an almost undeviatingly horizontal position, and therefore a sustained altitude, and yet the approaching storm was further heralded by a steadily falling barometer.
With the receipt of the wireless warning they had opened the throttles of the motors wide, and their air speed was now one hundred and twenty-five miles an hour, but there were doubts as to whether they were making headway of more than half that speed, with the wind increasing in velocity momentarily, and the plane beginning to rock and sway under the impact of these opposed forces.
"We won't try to ride this," Big Jack announced heavily, as a veritable gale struck them with such suddenness as to swerve them considerably off their course. "Altitude is what we want. We'll get above it."
Alas for sailors sailing new and uncharted seas, and aviators encountering previously unknown wind channels and air currents!
This storm came upon them so suddenly, broke upon them with such fury, beat them seemingly from all sides at once with such unprecedented force, that the very effort to tilt the rudder threatened to carry that and the whole after part of the plane away, bringing upon them disaster and destruction.
Andy, with feet and hands taut, turned a pale face toward Big Jack. The seriousness of the situation was equally reflected there, although the young giant's chin stuck out in a way that augured no admission of any but the most overwhelming defeat.
Again they tried to mount the storm to get to a height where they would be out of the reach of its worst elements, but a second time the effort was unsuccessful. The wind was coming in waves which threatened to tear the tremendous wings entirely away from the fusilage of the plane. Beneath them the ocean was being lashed into a fury of giant combers which, as they could see them, most resembled the constant opening and shutting of the great maw of some beast of prey, patiently, expectantly, awaiting their destruction.
The big-cylindered motors still were smashing out all the power they had in them and the propellers were lashing the air with seemingly uninterrupted force; the air-speed indicator still stood at one hundred and twenty-five miles an hour, and petrol was being consumed at an alarming rate; yet the lads all felt now that they were doing nothing more than holding their own—virtually remaining stationary over one spot which at any instant now might become their unmarked and unknown grave.
Any schoolboy is familiar with the principle that if two locomotives meet in a head-on collision, each traveling at a speed of, say, sixty miles an hour, the impact is the same as though one locomotive, going 120 miles an hour, had collided with one standing still.
If their guess was correct, therefore, that they were merely maintaining a stationary position, it was clear that up to this time the plane was combatting a pressure equivalent to two hundred and fifty miles' speed per hour. No plane long could endure such a tremendous test.
"I've heard the expression 'a tough night for the sailors,'" Andy shouted across to Big Jack, for it was difficult now for them to make themselves heard above the pounding of the engines, the scream of the storm and the beating of the propellers, even within the enclosed nacelle. "But," Andy continued, "I'm willing to agree right now that this is a rougher night on aviators."
"Yes," Jack shouted back, "and we're going to adopt seamen's tactics. We can't seem to get above this storm, and there's only one other thing to do. If we can bank and turn without spilling over completely we'll ride it out, even if it carries us back to Halifax."
Each man realized that upon the deftness with which they acted when the opportune moment came, their lives depended.
"Ready!" shouted Jack, who had been counting the alternate periods with which the heavier blasts had struck them, and felt the exact second approaching when the difficult maneuver might be attempted with least hazard.
"Right!" came the triple chorus in turn.
"Ready for a right bank!" Jack called out an instant later. "Over now!"
Each man at his appointed place, each carrying out his expected task, they worked with the perfectly adjusted rhythm of a unified machine.
For what seemed several minutes they wavered at a terrific and dangerous angle. The wind tore at the wings with what seemed like maniacal fury. At any instant it seemed that they would be carried away. Jack grabbed a lever and suddenly shot a double dose of petrol into the engines. They put forth their mightiest effort in just the nick of time. It was sufficient to drag them upward a dozen feet, and another gale of wind that would have completely capsized them at their previous level, as suddenly righted them now—and they were headed down the hurricane at a speed that human beings never had traveled before.
They cut down their speed considerably by all but shutting the throttles and depending only upon the force of the storm; but at no time did they dare completely shut off their power, for at irregular intervals the sudden shooting on of a full speed was all that righted them when the wind unexpectedly swerved to another quarter and with no advance warning attacked them first upon the port and then upon the starboard sides.
For three hours the terror of the storm continued, and then it took a northern course and began abating almost as suddenly as it had appeared. The sea, too, began to subside almost as soon as the heavy winds ceased, and as dawn approached and the clouds began to break there was little to indicate that the lads, due to the staunch durability of their plane, had ridden out one of the worst northern storms of that season.
But repairs were necessary to more than one part of the plane, and it was impossible to make a safe landing where they were. The compass showed them that in the power of the hurricane they had been heading east by north. To seek a calmer sea they turned almost directly south, and at 8 A.M., with the sun shining brightly, made a landing upon the surface of the ocean, which seemed entirely undisturbed by the cyclonic rage of the storm which had mighty nearly cost the four young men their lives.
Wires needed tightening, the rudder required bracing, a thorough inspection was their only safeguard against further difficulties. They descended, knowing that probably valuable hours would have to be given to the task.
But the thought came to each, What would they have done had they not had pontoons for landing on the surface of the ocean?
"Well, everything being as it is—in other words, things being as they will be," shouted out Fred Bentner after they had landed, experiencing a reaction of joy and relief at finding himself and the others safe and uninjured after the most harrowing experience of their lives, "I wonder just where we are?"
"Simple as A-B-C," Andy Flures responded, without the ghost of a smile. "We're on the good old Atlantic—nice little Atlantic—somewhere between the Equator and the North Pole."
"Yeh," Fred answered back. "As simple as I-D-I-O-T. Where on the Atlantic? is what I'd like to know. For all any of us can prove right now, we might be in the Gulf of Mexico. I feel as though we'd traveled further than that since midnight."
"We'll know where we are in a few minutes," Don promised, laying out a pad of paper, some charts and astronomical measuring instruments. "Old Sol will tell us."
"How?" asked Fred, speaking perhaps before he gave the matter a second thought.
"Why," Don answered in surprise, at the same time glancing at his watch, "it is now 8.30 o'clock. If I know the sun's exact position with relation to Halifax at 8.30 in the morning, I can pretty nearly get our position with relation to Halifax by the sun's position toward us at that time."
"I-D-I-O-T," laughed Andy, and stepped quickly out onto one of the pontoons to begin the examination of the first of the flying wires. Fred pretended not to hear the remark, and it required only a suggestion from Big Jack to remind them that their troubles and difficulties were by no means over; that the worst, although of a different character, might yet be ahead; that above all else now haste was necessary in getting repairs made so that they might speedily be under way again.
But they found more to be done than they had at first thought, because the plane had ridden so evenly after weathering the storm.
Two or three twists had to be given to the turnbuckles on practically every flying, landing, drift and bracing wire on the plane, and this of itself is no simple matter if every wire is to be subjected to its proper relative tension in order that an extra stress or strain may be so distributed that it will not warp some part out of position.
But the worst damage, and the one which required the longest time to thoroughly repair was to the upper right wing, where a camber rib had snapped and one jagged end pierced the "dope"-treated canvas covering.
Big Jack, the best mechanic of the crew, took personal charge of this repair, but it required the aid of the others. The covering had first to be loosened from the tail edge, and, making this opening no larger than was absolutely necessary, the fractured camber rib sawed off between the two stringers on either side of the break. The two remaining stationary pieces of the camber—that between the leading edge and the main spar, and the other between the rear spar and the trailing edge, were left in as false ribs, but between either of these spars and the center stringer struts had to be placed and fastened, and first fashioning to proper length and size from the little extra material carried for repairs, and afterward fixing them rigidly in place, was a task to try the ability and patience of the best mechanic.
This job alone required four hours of their precious time, and then the canvas had to be warped back taut and fastened again at the trailing edge, with the specially prepared glue, which took two more hours to knit the repair tight.
While the glue was setting they found a crack in the canvas of the lower left wing, which, while not so difficult of repair, nevertheless required attention before they could renew the trip; and it was these and a dozen other more trivial things that detained them, though they worked with a haste born of disappointment.
For Don's observations had brought tragically disconcerting results. They found themselves, according to his computations, at almost the exact spot which they had passed at eight o'clock the preceding evening. They were, therefore, some sixteen hours behind schedule time, and would, for a second time, have to traverse the distance between their present point and that at which the storm had overtaken them on the preceding night.
There was no use in being pessimistic about it, however, for it was nothing that could have been prevented, and they had reason to be thankful that they had escaped with their lives and without injury.
"Well," said Andy Flures finally, for Andy always could be depended upon to come forward with something sane and logical, even intensely practical, when things looked gloomiest, "I don't know how you fellows feel about it, but my stomach is whispering to me that if there isn't something forthcoming in the food line pretty soon there's going to be certain and painful rebellion. My suggestion is that we take ten minutes or so before we start to feed up against any other emergencies which may arise. All in favor please say 'eats.'"
"Eats," agreed the other three, and they dove into their greatly diminished rations. They had expected to make the trip in not more than twenty hours, and the eating of this meal, therefore, meant that they had but slight refreshment left to tide them over the balance of the journey.
"The rest of the trip's got to be made without serious incident," Jack said musingly after an inspection of the petrol gauge, "or we'll be running out of fuel. That would be nice, wouldn't it?"
"I've thought of that," Fred replied, "and the situation may arise yet when the radio will pull us out of a tough hole."
"Meaning?" queried Don.
"That we may have to summon a vessel and, if she has any, borrow some gas," explained Fred.
"In a pinch, of course, it would have to be tried," Jack agreed, "but if nothing extraordinary happens I think we can make Ireland with what fuel we have. We wouldn't be at all sure that we could reach a vessel anyway, you know, and especially one carrying petrol."
"Yes, I know," Fred agreed. "Nevertheless I'm more satisfied that we're equipped to speak out our wants in event we have to."
"Well," said Jack, again surveying the plane preliminary to their second start, "all's set; let's go."
They climbed into the nacelle, closed it tightly, took their respective places, again gave the gas to their good old engines, again the propellers whirled and the rapid-fire explosions within the cylinders were as music to their ears. They skimmed out across the surface of the ocean for perhaps a hundred yards and then once more rose to the flight.
"Wonder what happened to Braizewell's plane, and whether it got away or had to turn back," Don speculated, as they settled down to good going again.
"I hope to Hector it got hit by that storm that caught us, and that it put them completely out of business for all time," said Andy Flures fervently. "That machine and those connected with it have been our hoodoos since we arrived at Halifax. It certainly hasn't been Braizewell's fault that he hasn't put the jinx on us."
"Yep," Don answered, "but nevertheless I'll bet it was just their luck to escape that storm. You remember it took a sudden northward course, and I'm pretty certain it turned before they came up with it."
"Too bad, if that's true," said Andy morosely. As a matter of fact, there hadn't been anything to so ruffle his nature in years as this series of incidents which had begun with his having to stand Pilot Henryson on his head in the mud and mire of the Halifax aero field.
"Do you think we ought to wireless back that we were damaged and delayed by the storm?" Don asked, addressing himself to all three. "They'll be wondering what happened to us long before we arrive on the other side."
"Wouldn't do at all," said Jack quickly. "In the first place, we probably couldn't reach a shore station with the strength of our radio, and in the second we'd be more likely to give that other plane our exact location; and with the papers we're carrying I'd rather not have a scrimmage if it can be avoided."
"That's right," Don agreed. "I hadn't thought about the other machine following us."
"Listen!!" said Fred sharply only a few moments later.
Everyone instantly ceased talking, and to make things quieter both engines were shut off and the plane was allowed to float along on her own tremendous momentum.
"What is it?" asked Jack, looking anxiously at Fred, who remained intent, with the earpieces of the radio apparatus held close to his ears with both hands. "Getting something?" Jack continued, almost unconsciously, but at the same time having to give ninety per cent of his attention to steering and manipulating the plane, which was going along without power.
"Yes," answered Fred slowly. "And it's that other plane. They're not far behind us. They're talking to an ocean liner, and asking the ship if she's sighted us."
"By golly, if we weren't carrying these Government documents—" Jack began.
"The ship is asking who we are and who they are," Fred interrupted.
"And what are those crooks answering?" demanded Andy Flures.
Fred held up his hand for silence. Of a sudden his face took on a dark scowl. "Well, the highbinders!" he suddenly exclaimed.
"What now?" asked Don.
"They're saying," Fred answered, "that we're wanted by the Federal Government; that we have stolen papers and are seeking to transfer them to a foreign cruiser that is to meet us somewhere in the Atlantic. They say they are a Government craft in pursuit."
"All right," said Jack, again throwing full power on the engines. "One more score to settle when the reckoning comes—and I'm thinking its going to come before we reach the other side."
"The sooner the better," said the now aroused Andy, at the same time crawling forward to put the first strip of ammunition into the machine gun. "Yes, sir, the sooner the better; and when the time arrives, I want to work this little spitfire here," indicating the gun.
They were now racing ahead at the highest speed the two motors would develop. There was scarcely a perceptible adverse wind, and their course was due east.
For three hours they had raced along thus, and then the first trouble developed with one of the motors. It blew out a spark plug.
Now, while this is not a difficult repair for an expert motor mechanic, nevertheless it necessitated another costly delay, and when they again got under way with full power it was with the determination that nothing short of a catastrophe should again interfere with their passage.
"As it stands now," said Jack, "if we go on without interruption we're likely to hit the Irish coast in the dead of night. Even at that, though, I'll be solemn glad to set foot on land again."
"So say we all of us; so say we all of us," Andy chimed, in the words and tune of a well-known song.
Fifteen minutes later they sighted the first ship they had seen since leaving Halifax. Up to the present this hadn't seemed strange to them; as a matter of fact they hadn't been thinking of surface vessels; but now that they gave it consideration they realized it was because they had been carried off their course by the storm, or couldn't see the lights of one because their own attention was given entirely to trying to save their own craft.
"Looks pretty badly battered, at that," said Don, opening the fusilage and gazing downward. "Fred, let me have the glasses, will you?"
He took the powerful glasses and for a moment gazed downward. Then he began to laugh. "They're sizing us up the same way," he chuckled. "Guess we do look strange to them, away out here."
In another moment something happened which made them all sit up and take notice. There was a puff of smoke, a faint report, and a bullet whizzed through the air not more than fifteen yards away from them.
"Holy smoke!" shouted Andy. "It's all clear now. That's the ship that Braizewell's wireless was talking to. They take us for air pirates with stolen government papers."
In another instant they shot upward at amazing speed, in a zigzag course.
"Haven't got the time or inclination to argue it out with them," said Jack, "although if they don't keep that pop gun still we'll turn our nose down and let 'em have a volley, just by way of a return salute. They can't maneuver out of the way as we can."
But by now they not only were out of range of the gun on the ship, but also almost out of sight of the vessel's crew.
"Ta, ta, Jenny," Andy waved over the side, in mock misery at parting company. "See you later where the grass is greener."
At an altitude of nearly two miles they were skimming through the air at something more than a hundred miles an hour when Fred again uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"What now?" Don demanded.
"Wait!"
Again the engines were shut down to permit Fred to hear more clearly.
"The other plane and the ship are talking again, but I can't make it out," he explained. "It's all garbled, and I can only get a word here and there. Sounds like some sort of a code. By Jingo! It is! They're evidently talking to some other ship, and one friendly to them, at that. Conversation don't make sense at all."
He listened intently for a few moments and then gave a grunt of disgust. "They've stopped," he said. "Nothing more doing."
However, this was to be Fred's busy day, and only another short interval elapsed when something came to his ears that caused him to straighten up instantly to the closest attention.
Don, sitting near him and watching him, saw his eyes widen perceptibly, as though he was incredulous of what he heard. For several seconds he sat in the same position, not a muscle of his tense countenance changing, and then unconsciously his right hand went out toward his sending key. It rested there, however, and he sat immovable, making no effort to throw on the switch to connect the power necessary to send out a radio.
"Here," he said at last, clapping the earpieces onto the head of the surprised Don. "You don't know the radio code, but just raise and lower your hand with the length of each sound you hear. I don't know whether I'm hearing straight or have gone looney."
It was a moment before Don could distinguish anything, for he was not trained to the sound of the radio; but after an interval he suddenly raised his hand, then dropped it again, raised it and dropped it, at varying intervals in time with the short and long sounds he heard, and resembling in his actions some sort of an automatic contrivance more than a human being.
For he could neither understand nor interpret what he was, however, merely verifying to the astonished Fred.
"Do you know what that is?" the latter asked of the other two, who now were as interested as the mystified Don was.
"What?" asked Jack.
Before answering, Fred again put the receivers over his own ears. The call still was being repeated.
"Our call," he informed them brusquely. "R-S-7—and there's no doubt that it's being sent out by that other plane. Shall I answer?"
"Not under any circumstance," Jack commanded, for the first time really exerting his prerogative as captain of the crew.
"They're saying something," interjected Fred, grabbing pencil and pad and beginning to write rapidly.
A moment later he laid aside the receivers and picked up the paper to read aloud. "Listen to this," he said. "Here's what I caught: 'R-S-7. If you can catch this, reply immediately. Mistake been made. Return at once.'"
"Who signs it?" Jack asked.
"No signature at all; they just kept repeating that message," said Fred.
"Well, let 'em keep on repeating it," Jack snapped out. "Poor idiots! They might know that scheme wouldn't work. They just want to get a line on where we are. If Bronson or anybody in authority wanted to reach us it would come in our code. It shows, though, that those fellows are determined to reach us for a mix-up if they can."
"Yes," said Don, picking up the marine glasses and gazing intently to the westward behind them, "and it looks as though they were going to come mighty near doing it, too. Great Scott, Jack! take those glasses and look at that burst of speed."
He handed the glasses to Big Jack, while the others also turned their gaze to where the naked eye could just discern a slowly enlarging speck over the western horizon.
For a full minute Jack remained with the glasses to his eyes. Then he turned to look at his own air-speed indicator.
"We're doing a hundred and fifteen," he announced. "We'll put her up to a hundred and twenty-five, and without the aid of a favorable wind that's about the best we can do. Figuring the way they've been crawling up on us, even with us going at a hundred and fifteen, they must be doing something like a hundred and thirty-five at least."
He pondered for a moment and turned another backward glance. "Well," he ejaculated at last. "I guess those papers are more important than even we guessed. Those fellows aren't coming through on petrol: they're using a mixture of at least twenty-five per cent ether!"
Twenty minutes elapsed and it developed into what well might have been a life-and-death race, with the pursuing plane steadily cutting down the intervening distance—steadily gaining on the one that already was plowing through the air at the rate of a hundred and twenty-seven miles an hour according to the air-speed indicator, and probably not less than a hundred and twenty miles an hour ground speed.
Another half hour and the pursuing machine had sufficiently reduced the distance to let go the first volley of shots from her machine gun.
"Ah," exclaimed Jack, "prepared for action, eh? Well, maybe we can give them a little surprise. I don't think they know we're armed."
He started climbing, and so suddenly and at such an acute angle that the pilot of the other plane could not see the intended maneuver soon enough to parallel the course.
"If it's really a fight they want, I reckon the time has arrived when we'll have to stop and give it to them," he breathed again through clenched teeth. He and Andy now were working together like a pair of Siamese twins. The dual motors were turning out a new specimen of power, as though by some human intelligence they, too, realized that the moment of supreme test had come.
"Don," Jack shouted, "you'll have to work that machine gun. Andy is needed here in the cock-pit."