Andy checked their position on the map and stepped over to Captain Harkins.
“We’ll be over Washington about five-thirty if we maintain our present rate of speed,” he said.
“That’s too early,” replied the commander. “Order the engines down to half speed. We can speed up later if we find we’re a little behind.”
Andy phoned the order to the engine rooms and the Goliath slowed down to a steady fifty miles an hour, with the distance slipping off its silvered sides like magic miles.
The assistant pilot got permission to leave his post and make a tour of inspection. He stopped at Bert’s cubby on his way back into the interior.
“Washington is about crazy with curiosity,” grinned Bert, who had a headset on, “He knows we’ve left the field because our signals are stronger but he doesn’t believe we’re on our way east. Bet he stretches his neck when we arrive.”
“A good many thousand people are going to have Stiff necks before the day’s over,” smiled Andy. “See you later. I’m going to make a swing around this big weiner.”
All lights in the main gondola, except those in the control and radio rooms were out, but enough moonlight came through the windows of the promenade deck for Andy to see his way clearly back to the main catwalk in the interior. The catwalk was well lighted and he passed along under the towering gas cells, filled with the precious helium. The stress and strain meters showed that the duralumin framework was reacting even more favorably than they had dared hope to under the test of actual flight.
Andy continued on until he was in the middle of the ship where the great cargo hold was located. It yawned an empty, dimly lighted space. In the fore part were the quarters for the members of the crew and officers and Andy stepped into the tiny cabin he shared with Bert. The night had been raw when he started and he had put on an extra jacket of heavy brown suede but it was not needed now for with their approach to the eastern seaboard the temperature was climbing steadily.
After leaving his cabin, Andy ran up one of the ladders which led to the top of the dirigible and its observation cockpits. He saw the shadow of someone ahead of him and discovered that Serge, who had been making a trip through the interior, could not resist the temptation and had also gone up top.
“You Americans should be very proud of the Goliath,” said Serge. “I have never dreamed of anything so complete. It is a Pullman of the air; every comfort thought of and anticipated.”
“The thing that pleases me,” said Andy, “is that the ship is so far exceeding every specification set for it. The army men haven’t said very much but I can tell that they are highly pleased.”
They remained up top for ten of fifteen minutes as the new king of the skies slid through its domain. The sky was reddening in the east with the approach of the new day. The mountains were in the west, smeared with the sullen shadows of a night which seemed reluctant to leave. Before them stretched the smoother country of Virginia.
“We’re climbing again,” said Andy. “Captain Harkins must be going up so high we won’t be heard or seen on the ground.”
The army planes, faithful guardians through the night, circled far overhead.
“I don’t envy those chaps,” grinned Serge. “We are moving so slowly they must find it hard to stay anywhere near us. Lieutenant Crummit told me their low cruising speed was 100 miles an hour. Look how they zig-zag back and forth.”
“They’ll leave us when we get over Washington and drop down on Bolling field to refuel,” said Andy. “By the time we get back to Bellevue they’ll be pretty much all in. Handling one of those delicate pursuit ships for eight or ten hours is no picnic.”
The red disk of the sun popped into view and Andy and Serge left the observation cockpit and returned to the control room. Captain Harkins had hardly moved since leaving Bellevue but now he turned the main controls over to Andy.
“The course is north, northeast,” he said. “Hold her as she is and at 12,000 feet.”
“North by northeast,” replied Andy, “and at 12,000 feet. Yes sir.”
The steward had been busy for the last hour and a hot breakfast was served to the army observers and officers of the dirigible in the main dining salon while the crew had its breakfast in the dining room midships.
Bert brought Andy a cup of coffee and a sandwich but the assistant pilot was too interested in the way the Goliath handled to think of asking for relief so he could go back and have the hot cereal, toast and jam that the others enjoyed.
He was master of their dirigible, the king of the skies, the greatest airship ever built by man! Andy’s hands firmly grasped the wheels which controlled the elevators and the rudder. The Goliath responded easily and he swung it a point or two off course to see just how it handled.
Captain Harkins returned from breakfast while Andy was bringing the Goliath back on course.
“Experimenting a little to see how the big boy handles?” asked the commander.
“I couldn’t resist,” replied Andy.
“I know how you feel,” smiled Captain Harkins. “I did a little of it myself while we were over the mountains.” He turned to Serge.
“Step up here and take control,” he told the young Rubanian, whose mission had once been the destruction of the craft in which they now rode in comfort and security.
Serge smiled gratefully as he accepted Captain Harkins’ invitation. It had been months since he had stood at the controls of a dirigible. The last time had been early in the winter when he had guided one of the large Blenkkos over Kratz, the capital of Rubania. The day following that trip he had been ordered into the Gerka and then put on the long distance planes, with the result that he was now in the United States, a member of the crew of the Goliath. It all seemed like a vague dream, his long flight across the ocean, his acceptance at Bellevue as a civilian observer from Friedrichshafen and the final discovery of his identity by Andy and the downfall of Alex Reikoff, dictator of Rubania. Within the hour he would soar over Washington, the capital of the United States, and he felt his body glow with the happiness and contentment that was his.
Captain Harkins checked the position of the Goliath and ordered a slight increase in speed. The sun cleared away the morning mists and the entire countryside lay below them, clothed with the green freshness of the spring.
The commander took over the controls and Andy returned to his station at Captain Harkin’s right where he was in a position to relay instantly orders to the engine crews.
Andy, watching ahead intently, was the first to catch the white gleam of the Washington monument and a minute later the dome of the capitol was sighted. The Potomac curved lazily below and they soared over Alexandria, Va; In order to reach Washington at six, Captain Harkins had dipped further into Virginia than he had first intended and approached Washington from the south and east.
The assistant pilot of the Goliath had made many air trips to Washington but he had never viewed the city from that height and he marveled at the beauty of the capital; its great, gleaming white buildings, its broad boulevards and its stately memorials.
It was just six o’clock when Bert hurried out of the radio room.
“Harry just came in on the air,” he said. “Can you get off a minute and we’ll say good morning to him?”
Serge relieved Andy at the phones and the assistant pilot accompanied Bert back to the radio cubby, where he was handed a headset.
“Harry wants to know what’s up?” chuckled Bert.
“All right,” grinned Andy. “Cut him in and then listen to him explode.”
Bert made the necessary adjustments and Andy heard Harry’s familiar voice.
“Hello, hello, hello,” said Andy. “This is the dirigible Goliath, now over the city of Washington, in a special broadcast to the Arctic submarine Neptune, en route from Brooklyn, New York, to Plymouth, England, on the first leg of its trip to the North pole where it will be met this summer by the Goliath for an exchange of mail. This is a beautifully clear spring morning with a light west wind. We are paying a surprise visit to the capital after an unannounced departure this morning at three o’clock from the Goliath’s home field at Bellevue, Ky.”
Andy heard an excited exclamation and then Harry, now far out to sea in the Neptune, started plying him with questions.
“Are you really over Washington now? How is the Goliath behaving? Why didn’t you tell a fellow what you were going to do?”
One by one Andy answered them and before he signed off Harry gave three stirring cheers for the Goliath and the success of its first long flight.
“The weather is still bad,” he said as he signed off, “and if you don’t get me at eight tonight, don’t worry. I’m more than a little seasick and I may not feel up to talking with anyone but I’ll be on sure tomorrow morning at eight.”
Andy met his father on the way back to the control room and found him jubilant.
“The army board is more than enthusiastic about the performance,” he told Andy, “and there is no question but what we will get an immediate approval and payment of the balance of the government appropriation.”
“I’m mighty glad to know that, Dad,” replied Andy, “for I realize how much the success of the Goliath means to you. It will prove the practicability of these big ships for commercial service and mean we can build more of them for National Airways.”
When Andy returned to his post in the control room, they were circling over the heart of the city and losing altitude rapidly for Captain Harkins was coming down to give the early morning risers a close view of the world’s largest airship.
They swung out over the Potomac and the crew of the night boat, up from Norfolk, Va., which was just steaming into the tidal basin, waved as the Goliath drifted overhead, its speed now cut down to a mere thirty miles an hour. They cruised over the city at a thousand feet.
News of the Goliath’s arrival spread rapidly and hundreds of people flocked into the streets to see the big airship.
Captain Harkins headed for the White House and dropped the airship down to seven hundred and fifty feet. Back of the White House a group of men ceased their game of medicine ball to gaze up at the great silver hulk.
Andy nudged Serge and pointed downward.
“There’s the president and his ‘medicine ball’ cabinet,” he said.
“What kind of a cabinet is that?” asked Serge.
“It’s the group of men with which the president plays medicine ball,” explained Andy. “They get together every morning for their exercise. There’s usually the president’s personal physician, at least one of his private secretaries and several cabinet members and usually a justice of the supreme court.”
Officers and crew of the Goliath lined the windows as they passed over the White House and waved at the group below, which returned the greeting enthusiastically.
Captain Harkins dipped the bow of the airship in salute and then threw over the elevator controls and sent the Goliath to a safer altitude. For an hour they cruised over the capital and its environs, now swinging down into Virginia, idling slowly over Arlington and then back over the capital.
Several of the army officers had been in the radio room, getting in touch with their superiors. When they returned they went into a conference with Captain Harkins and Andy’s father. The assistant pilot caught snatches of the conversation. He heard Baltimore, New York and Philadelphia mentioned and his heart leaped as Captain Harkins turned to him and handed over the controls.
“Make one more circle over the city,” he said, “and then set your course for Baltimore.”
“Yes sir,” said Andy. “After Baltimore do we start home?”
“Not yet,” replied Captain Harkins, his fine eyes twinkling. “The army men are anxious that New York and Philadelphia get a glimpse of the Goliath so we won’t be home until night.”
They made a final circle of the city and Andy set the course for Baltimore. Serge, at the telephone, relayed the order for the engines to increase their speed to eighty miles and hour and in less than half an hour they were within sight of the city that made the oyster famous.
News that they had headed toward Baltimore had preceded them and the streets were thick with thousands of people craning their necks to see the sky king. They gave Baltimore a half hour view at two thousand feet and by that time the air was full of planes which circled around them. The faithful army ships had rejoined them and had a busy time chasing newspaper planes whose ambitious photographers insisted on getting too close to the Goliath.
The ever-growing procession left Baltimore and headed north for Philadelphia, which was also given a half hour view of them before they proceeded on toward New York.
Captain Harkins took charge again and set the speed so the Goliath would reach the metropolis during the noon hour when the thousands of down town workers would be out to lunch and free to watch the maneuvers of the airship.
Bert stuck his head out of the radio room and called to Andy.
“I’ve just picked up a message from Washington to Lakehurst,” he said. “The Akron and the Los Angeles are being ordered out to join us in a parade over New York.”
“I’d almost like to be on the ground to see it,” said Andy, “but I guess I’ll be contented and stay here.”
The sun mounted toward its zenith as New Jersey unfolded below them and the hangars at Lakehurst grew from tiny dots into good-sized mushrooms, outside which two silver ships were starting to take the air. By the time they were over the home of the naval aircraft, the Akron and Los Angeles were at the two thousand foot level and Captain Harkins radiophoned to both ships to decide on the formation. It was agreed that the Los Angeles would lead with the Akron next and the Goliath, the giant of them all, bringing up the rear, a pageant of the progress of aircraft.
The Los Angeles, slimmer and more graceful than the bulkier Akron or the giant Goliath, took the lead and the other two ships fell in behind.
It was a magnificent fleet that paraded over the Jersey flats that spring morning. To the east rolled the sparkling waters of the Atlantic while ahead of them loomed the spires of Greater New York.
The aerial argosy swung out over the bay, dipped in salute as it circled the Statue of Liberty, and then proceeded over the Battery and up the man-made canyon that is known the world over as Broadway.
Whistles of tugs and ferryboats blended in a concerted shriek of welcome and the streets below were thronged with humanity. Traffic in down town New York was at a standstill, tied up so hopelessly that it took hours to get it moving again.
They passed the mooring mast atop the Empire State at fifty miles an hour and then dipped slightly to the west to look down on Times Square. Central park displayed its greenery ahead of them and in another minute they were over Riverside drive and the Hudson.
Captain Harkins shifted the course and they turned and cut across Manhattan to give Brooklyn a view of the Goliath. For an hour and a half the three dirigibles zig-zagged back and forth over the metropolitan area. At one-thirty the command was given to start for home and with the final scream of whistles in their ears, the crew of the Goliath watched the mighty buildings of Manhattan disappear behind them.
Lunch was served while they were on the return to Lakehurst, where the Los Angeles and the Akron left them and they proceeded on toward Bellevue accompanied only by the four army planes.
Captain Harkins set a bee-line course that took them over New Jersey, west of Philadelphia, and across the heart of the mountains to their sheltered valley home in Kentucky.
Bert had obtained a mid-afternoon weather forecast from Washington, which he handed to Andy. The prediction was none too favorable. A storm had swept down off the Great Lakes and was now over Ohio. If it continued its present rate and course it would bisect the path of the Goliath. Andy passed the forecast on to Captain Harkins, whose lips tightened into a firm, straight line.
“Looks like we’ll be in for some nasty weather before we get home,” observed the commander of the Goliath. “Keep in touch with Washington, Bert, and advise me at once of any changes in the weather report.”
Captain Harkins ordered the speed stepped up until they were doing an even ninety an hour. In calm weather they would have been averaging a hundred but a westerly wind cut them down ten miles an hour.
Clouds rolled out of the west and the sun was obscured by the drifting banks of gray.
Bert came back to the control room to say that weather reports now indicated spotty weather all of the way home with local showers and thunderstorms.
They ran under a bank of rain clouds and the Goliath got its first taste of dirty weather, but it rode through the shower without difficulty, the rain shooting off its metalized sides in steady sheets.
Dusk found them two hundred miles from Bellevue with storms all around them. Lightning was flashing steadily in the northwest and the sky was full of wind squalls with the clouds rolling and twisting in an ominous manner.
“Just the kind of a night for a tornado,” Andy heard his father tell Captain Harkins in a low voice. The Commander of the Goliath, his face lined with worry, nodded.
The storm was thickening. It would break at any minute. They had stuck to their course as long as they dared before Captain Harkins gave the orders to run before the storm. The Goliath heeled sharply as a vicious gust of wind caught it broadside while it was circling. Then they were running into the southeast with the storm behind them.
Electrical interference was so heavy that it was impossible for Bert to communicate with the Washington weather bureau and learn the conditions they were running into. They simply had to take the course of the least resistance and hope that they could escape the fury of the elements.
For half an hour the Goliath sped through the heavy night. Rain beat against its silvered sides and flashes of lightning cast their glare over the boiling clouds. If the big airship returned to Bellevue without mishap it would certainly have won its laurels on its maiden flight.
The weather was getting thicker and Captain Harkins ordered Andy and Serge into the observation cockpits on top of the big bag.
“Keep in constant touch with me,” he ordered. “If you see a break in the storm let me know and we’ll try and run through it.”
From their lonely posts atop the dirigible Andy and Serge, clad in oilskins, braced themselves against the heat of the rain and the rush of the wind. With headsets on their ears and transmitters slung across their chests, they kept in touch with the main control room. All around them was a sea of churning clouds, rolling thunder, bolts of glittering blue and through it all the steady beat of the powerful engines as they drove the Goliath on through the night.
They were at the seven thousand foot level and Captain Harkins warned them he was going to attempt to get above the storm. The nose shot skyward and they pushed their way up through the clouds. Eight, nine and ten thousand feet dropped away, but even at that level the storm raged. There was no escape. Flickers of static played along the runway atop the Goliath and Andy was grateful that the gas cells were filled with the non-explosive helium.
At ten thousand feet the Goliath was making the fight for its life. Grim-faced engineers watched over their engines while in the control room Captain Harkins and Andy’s father stood side by side as they guided the great airship through the storm. The army officers, grouped close behind, watched every move for their lives hung in the balance that fateful night. Would the storm rip the Goliath asunder and drop it, a broken, lifeless thing, like it had the Shenandoah? Would their fate be the same? Those questions were in the mind of every man.
The storm increased in violence and Andy, atop the dirigible, felt the frame trembling under the terrific blows from the wind. He looked about desperately for some break in the clouds that would let them through to safety. The Goliath was making a brave battle but it was only a question of how long it could stand such a battering.
Bert, down in the control room, was on the other end of the phone, and the news he gave Andy was none too encouraging. No. 5 engine had cut out. The crew reported a burned out bearing, which meant that the engine was disabled for the remainder of the trip. Ten minutes later No. 9 on the opposite side developed trouble and had to be shut down. They were cruising with 10 motors running, ample power for any average storm but this spring disturbance of the weather was anything but usual.
An occasional brilliant glare of lightning would reveal Serge at his observation post further back along the top and Andy wondered how the young Rubanian was faring. If they could only locate a break in the clouds. Andy’s eyes swept the darkness again but it was to no avail.
The Goliath heeled savagely and he clung to the edge of the cockpit. They were knifing off to the right. The speed of the motors had increased. Could the men in the control room have sighted a break or had Serge’s eyes been keener than his own?
The Goliath was running for its life, pulsating to the throbbing power of the engines. They must be doing well over a hundred, thought Andy.
The clouds ahead thinned; the rain lessened, the force of the wind abated and in ten more minutes they were out of the main storm, sailing through a light spring shower. Andy dropped down on a seat in the observation cockpit. He was exhausted for he had fought every step with the Goliath and now that safety was at hand he felt a great wave of fatigue sweep over him.
After a five minute rest he descended into the heart of the dirigible and then made his way forward to the control room. Captain Harkins was still at the controls but the lines of his face had softened.
“We’re through the worst of it,” he told Andy. “We’ll loaf along here until the weather north and west of us clears enough so we can get back to Bellevue. You take charge while I go back for a bite to eat. I’m pretty much all in.”
All Andy knew was that they were somewhere over the western part of the Carolinas, and he let the Goliath ease through the night at a bare thirty-five miles an hour. The rain ceased and the moon was struggling to break through the clouds.
Bert had managed to get in touch with Washington and allayed the fears of officials at the capital. He also learned that the four army planes which had accompanied the Goliath had landed safely in West Virginia. This was good news to Andy, who in his concern over the safety of the Goliath had forgotten the army flyers.
Serge came down from his observation post and Captain Harkins praised him highly.
“It was Serge,” he told Andy, “who spotted the break in the storm. If it hadn’t been for his keen eyes one guess is as good as another as to where we would be now.”
By ten o’clock the storms had drifted away and they were free to start the return to Bellevue. The trouble on No. 9 motor had been repaired and with only No. 5 out, they sped toward home.
The lights of Bellevue came into view at eleven-fifteen and ten minutes later the Goliath drifted down to stick its squat nose into the automatic coupling on the portable mooring mast. Eager hands steadied the great ship as it was towed into the hangar and lodged securely in its berth.
Before leaving the hangar, a thorough inspection was made to ascertain if any sections had undergone damage during the storm. The outer fabric was in perfect condition and outside of the failure of No. 5 motor, the Goliath had won its laurels in its first long flight.
News of the Goliath’s victorious battle against the most severe storm of the spring was spread on the front page of every newspaper in the country the next day and special writers and correspondents for the big press associations besieged the military patrol at Bellevue. Venturesome photographers even attempted to fly over the plant and snap pictures of the hangar but the army planes soon put an end to that stunt.
The insistence of the reporters compelled the attention of Andy’s father and Captain Harkins, and they called Andy into their conference. He advised that reporters be escorted through the hangar and taken on a thorough trip over the dirigible.
“We want the public to have faith in the Goliath,” counseled Andy, “and the reporters must have the facts if they are to write intelligently.”
“I believe you’re right,” agreed his father and Captain Harkins added a word of approval.
Andy and Bert were designated as the tour conductors and they met the reporters at the hotel. Nine men and two women were in the group they escorted to the plant.
Andy was amused by their exclamations of wonder at the size of the Goliath and he was pleased at their open praise of the beauty of the great ship. The inspection tour required two hours that afternoon for they went into every part of the dirigible, even up to the observation cockpits on top and several of the more daring reporters walking along the upper catwalk.
When they returned to the main cabin, they found that Captain Harkins had ordered the steward to serve tea. It was late afternoon by the time the reporters departed, but they left highly elated over their expedition and promised that glowing stories of the Goliath would appear in their papers and on the press association wires.
When they had gone, Andy and Bert sat down on the steps of the hotel. The tension of fighting with the Goliath through the storm of the night before had carried them along but now they relaxed and an enveloping cloak of fatigue settled over them.
“I’m so tired I can hardly wiggle,” groaned Bert.
“I’m just about that bad,” agreed Andy. “Believe me, I’ll go to bed early tonight.”
“Wonder what’s happened to Harry and the Neptune?” said Bert. “I managed to roll out this morning in time to tune in at eight o’clock but I didn’t get even a peep out of him.”
“I must have been sound asleep when you got up,” said Andy, “for I didn’t hear a thing.”
“I came back to bed after failing to get in touch with Harry,” replied Bert. “I’ll try again tonight at eight. Hope I have better luck. I wouldn’t trust one of those tin fish as far as I could throw my hat. They don’t look safe to me.”
“I expect a sailor feels the same way about an airship,” said Andy. “It all depends on what you’re used to.”
After dinner that night Andy’s father announced that special tests would be made the next week, including the attaching of a plane to the Goliath while in flight. This had been successfully accomplished by the Akron and they expected no difficulty. The special rigging was already at Bellevue and it would be only the matter of a few days to complete the installation. The Goliath differed from the Akron in one capacity. Where the Akron could carry a single plane slung underneath in a special carriage, the Goliath had a special hold midships where the planes could be raised and stored. It could accommodate four fast pursuit ships, launching them as it sped through the air at one hundred miles an hour. It was from this viewpoint that the Goliath held unusual value to the army officers.
Shortly before eight o’clock Andy and Bert went to the radio room, where Bert tuned up his receiver for a talk with Harry, now far out to sea in the Neptune.
He turned on the power at eight o’clock and waited patiently for a signal from the submarine. When it failed to come he tried calling Harry but even then failed to get a reply.
Bert worked for an hour hoping that he could get some answer from the Neptune but at nine o’clock was forced to admit defeat.
“I’m getting worried,” confessed Bert. “It was too stormy to make contact last night so it’s been nearly 36 hours since we’ve heard from Harry and anything can happen out there in mid-ocean.”
“Don’t let your imagination run away with you,” counseled Andy, who admitted to himself that he was afraid some accident had befallen the Neptune. “They’ve probably run into a streak of bad weather and may have submerged to try and ride it out.”
“I’ll try again the first thing in the morning,” said Bert. “We’ve just got to hear from Harry,” he added desperately.
In spite of their fatigue, Andy and Bert passed a restless night and they were up with the first sign of the dawn. Without waiting for breakfast they hurried to the radio room where Bert tuned in on the wave length used for communication between the station at Bellevue and the Neptune.
“Someone’s on the air,” he said quickly. “I can hear the hum of his transmitter; sounds like Harry’s set.”
“Hello, Neptune,” said Bert. “This is the station at Bellevue, Ky., calling for the submarine Neptune, now en route to Plymouth, England. Hello, Neptune, hello!”
Andy bent close to the loud speaker, waiting eagerly for the ether waves to bring a reply to Bert’s call.
It failed to come and Bert repeated his call. Still there was no answer and the call went out a third and then a fourth time.
“I can’t understand his failure to reply,” said Bert. “His set is running.”
“Try it once more,” urged Andy. “Maybe we’ll have better luck.”
Bert repeated his call and then gazed at Andy incredulously as Harry’s familiar voice replied almost immediately.
“You must be a prophet,” Bert told Andy. “Where in the dickens have you been for the last two days?” he asked Harry. “We’ve been scared stiff for fear your tin fish might have sunk.”
“No such luck,” replied Harry. “I’ve been so seasick I couldn’t even sit up. This is my first message since I last talked with you two days ago.”
“Been running into rough weather?” asked Andy.
“I never dreamed the ocean could be so nasty,” replied Harry in a hollow voice. “We’ve been tossed around like a cork and half the crew has been under the weather. This morning is the first time in 48 hours we could cruise on the surface with any degree of comfort.”
“Don’t blame us for your predicament,” said Bert unfeelingly. “I warned you to keep out of the submarine. But, no, you knew best.”
“Listen,” replied Harry. “I couldn’t let you go to the North Pole and slip one over on me so when I heard the Neptune was going to make the trip I signed up. You fellows wait until old man weather gets a real good shot at you and you won’t think it is quite so funny.”
“We’ve had our turn,” said Andy, and he told Harry in detail of the events which had occurred on their return from New York and of their strenuous battle against the elements.
“Looks to me like the Goliath and the Neptune proved their ability at about the same time,” said Harry. “After the last two days in the Neptune, I’ve got every confidence in it.”
“I called you for fifteen minutes before you answered,” said Bert. “Your transmitter was on the air but I couldn’t get any reply.”
“The answer is simple,” replied Harry. “I wasn’t here. As I said before, I’ve been feeling pretty rocky. Well, I came up to the radio room and turned on the set, intending to call you. Then I got shaky again and had to go back and lie down. Guess I forgot to turn off the set and it kept buzzing away.”
“How much longer will it take you to reach Plymouth?” asked Andy.
“With the delay we’ve encountered on account of the storm, it will take nearly another week,” replied Harry, “and here’s hoping that we’ll have fair weather from now on.”
They signed off a few minutes later after agreeing to talk again that night at eight o’clock.
The remainder of that day and the rest of the week was devoted to the installation of the special landing apparatus which would snare a plane out of mid-air and haul it safely into the inner hold of the Goliath.
Andy and Bert talked with Harry every day and learned that the Neptune, aided by favorable weather, was making good progress. The sea had steadied down and Harry had found his sea legs and his appetite had returned.
“Which means,” laughed Bert, “that the cook aboard that sub is going to have a man-sized job keeping Harry filled with food.”
Air corps officers from various posts flew in to inspect the Goliath while the members of the official board which had accompanied the airship on its flight to New York remained at hand for further tests. It was Tuesday of the following week before the installation of the special gear had been completed and the Goliath pronounced ready for further tests.
The pursuit ship of Lieutenant Crummit was also fitted with special rigging and when this was completed they were ready for another trial.
Tuesday was an ideal spring day with plenty of sunshine and only a slight breeze from the south. The Goliath was walked out of its hangar and, with Captain Harkins at the controls and Andy at his side, made its third trip aloft.
When they were well under way, Andy went back midships to supervise the contact with the pursuit plane.
Lieutenant Crummit buzzed nervously about the Goliath in his fast single-seater. The airship gradually stepped up its speed until it was doing a hundred miles an hour, going fast enough for the contact to be made.
Back in the cavernous hold of the Goliath a tense crew was waiting to leap to its task. Andy’s father came back to watch the operation.
A great arm hung beneath the dirigible and from this arm extended a V-shaped coupler into which the coupler on the plane would fit. Synchronization of speed was the main thing upon which success depended and it was up to Lieutenant Crummit to creep up under the Goliath at just a trifle more than a hundred miles an hour.
From the observation windows in the keel Andy watched the approach of the pursuit plane. Lieutenant Crummit was coming in as slowly as he dared, maneuvering carefully in an attempt to make the coupling on the first contact.
The triangular coupling mounted on the upper wing of the army plane slipped into the “V” of the arm below the Goliath. There was a slight jolt at the shock of contact and Lieutenant Crummit, assured that the coupling was fast, cut the switches on his motor and looked up expectantly.
Andy threw over the switch on the main control. The large trap door at the bottom of the Goliath rolled back. Simultaneously the arm which held the army plane fast in its grip moved upward rapidly, bringing the pursuit ship with it. In another thirty seconds the army fighter was deposited safely in the hold, the trap door was back in place and the powerful crane, or arm, which had caught and lifted the plane, was back in position.
Lieutenant Crummit leaped from the cockpit and ran toward Andy.
“That’s the greatest aerial stunt I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Why, it’s as simple as falling off a log. I couldn’t miss that big ‘V’ and the next thing I knew the plane was being whirled upward.”
Army officers who had watched the operation from the control room came back to interview the lieutenant and get his report. It was decided to repeat the maneuver, only this time the plane would be set into flight from the Goliath.
The large crane was lifted back into the hold and made fast to the plane. When Lieutenant Crummit signalled he was ready, Andy opened the trap door and dropped the plane through. The army flyer switched on his inertia starter, the warm motor caught the first time over and the propeller went into its dazzling whirl.
Lieutenant Crummit threw up his left arm as a signal for the release and the big crane relinquished its grip on the pursuit ship. The army plane dropped down and away from the Goliath, then climbed and raced wildly around the mother ship. The Goliath had passed another one of its exacting tests successfully and Andy returned to the main control room and relieved Serge, who had taken his place during his absence in the hold.
Instead of heading back for Bellevue, the Goliath swung north and Andy looked inquiringly at his father, who had just returned from a conference with the army men.
“We’re going to give Cincinnati a treat,” said the vice president of the National Airways. “We can make the trip up there and be back home before dark.”
With Lieutenant Crummit’s plane and another army craft as escorts, the Goliath roared northward at a hundred miles an hour, knifing its silver hull through the lazy, fleecy clouds.
The Ohio river, heavy-burdened with a spring flood, rolled ahead of them and just beyond was the haze which hung over Cincinnati. It was a surprise visit but the townspeople were not long in hurrying into the streets to glimpse the king of the air. They wheeled and turned over Cincinnati for a half hour before heading back for Bellevue.
Bert, who had left his radio room, leaned out a window and looked down at the swollen Ohio.
“There’s plenty of water rolling down to the Gulf,” he told Andy, “and from all reports the Ohio isn’t the only river on a rampage. Almost every large tributary of the Mississippi is at flood stage, which means plenty of trouble for people living down in the lower river country. It will take several days for the flood waters to get there, but when they do the country is going to forget about the Goliath and think about the flood.”
“You’re a cheerful sort of a soul,” smiled Andy.
“Just mark my words,” insisted Bert. “I predict a big flood on the lower portions of the Mississippi.”
They returned to Bellevue as twilight was draping its mantle of soft purple over the valley and it was dark, by the time the Goliath was in its berth.
There were minor adjustments and changes to be made on the Goliath and the next three days were busy ones for the officers and members of the crew.
Bert’s prediction was coming true, if the stories appearing in the papers were not exaggerating the situation. From Memphis down the Mississippi was on a rampage, crashing through the man-made barriers that had been erected to keep it in its channel and spreading death and destruction over large areas of fertile land.
The Friday morning paper, which reached Bellevue by bus shortly after noon, emphasized the need for relief measures, stressing that refugees were without proper clothes or food. The national Red Cross had stepped in and was making every effort to relieve the situation but it was impossible to reach some of the more isolated regions and women and children were believed to be in want.
“What they need is a dirigible,” said Andy. “Why, we could load the Goliath with tons of food and clothing, cruise over that area at a low altitude, and drop supplies for hundreds of refugees.”
“Why don’t you suggest it to your father?” said Bert.
“I’ll do it right now,” said Andy, and he started toward the hotel.
Charles High heard his son’s story without comment and when Andy was through, spoke with his characteristic decision.
“I’ll put through a call to the national Red Cross office in Washington,” he said, “and if the need is as serious as you feel, we’ll start before dawn.”
The national headquarters of the Red Cross confirmed the emergency and welcomed the offer of the National Airways to send the Goliath into the flood region. Arrangements were made to bring in supplies on a special train from Cincinnati and the loading of the Goliath was set for shortly after midnight.
The special train arrived an hour late and the crew of the airship worked with feverish haste to transfer the clothes and food from the express cars to the Goliath. The task was completed at four o’clock and with the first tints of dawn in the sky, the Goliath was taken out of its hangar and started on its errand of mercy.
Captain Harkins held the big ship at a steady eighty miles an hour and by mid-forenoon they were well below Memphis and swinging over the flood area. The Mississippi had turned its valley into an immense brown lake. The waters had swilled through towns, inundating streets and sweeping houses from their foundations.
Many of the towns had been deserted while others, on higher ground, were completely cut off by the flood. It was to the latter that the Goliath was directed.
Bert kept in touch with the latest radio reports on the conditions and the Goliath swung from one village to another. Andy, back in the hold, superintended the dropping of food and clothes. The food was put into bundles of clothes and then dropped overboard, the Goliath descending until it was a bare fifty feet above the towns to which it brought relief. With motors shut off, it was possible for Andy to carry on a conversation with the marooned people and ascertain their needs. Serge was with Andy and they directed the crew in the relief work.
Through the morning and afternoon they worked and their supply of food and clothing dwindled at a surprising rate. Two more towns to serve and they would be through. They dropped food and clothing to the first one and hurried on to supply the second. After that they would start for home.
Lieutenant Crummit and another army flyer had stuck with them all day long, leaving only when it was necessary to fly to some city and replenish their fuel supply, but one of the army pursuit ships had always been on duty.
A scene of complete desolation greeted them as they neared the last town to which they were bringing assistance. Flood waters were pouring through every street and the inhabitants who had not escaped were huddled on house tops. More than fifty men, women and children were congregated on the flat roof of a garage, the largest building in the town. Out of the northwest a chill wind was presaging a raw, bitter night and Andy shivered as he thought of the suffering which the little band on the rooftop would undergo before rescuers could reach them by boat.
“Why don’t we drop down and take them aboard?” suggested Bert. “With much more exposure some of those people will have pneumonia.”
“It might be possible,” agreed Andy. “We’ll see Captain Harkins.”
They presented their suggestion to the commander of the Goliath, and, after a careful survey, Captain Harkins agreed. Orders were given for the descent of the Goliath and Andy went back midships to supervise the dropping of a flexible steel ladder. The Goliath could not land directly on the roof, but would hover just above it. The refugees would have to climb the ladder to safety.
With a megaphone in his hands, Andy directed the rescue work. The Goliath, its motors turning over just enough to hold it above the roof, hung almost motionless. The excited townspeople grasped the ladder, which four men held fast to the rooftop. The ladder was none too steady but the refugees, preferring the climb to the airship to another night on the rooftop, bravely made their way aloft. Women came up alone with the boys and girls following them. Babes in arms were carried up by the men. In fifteen minutes the transfer had been completed, the ladder was drawn up, the command given to proceed and the refugees hurried forward into the main cabin where it was warm and where the stewards had prepared a hot meal.
It was a grateful group that came into the control room later to express their thanks to Captain Harkins, but the commander referred them to Andy, saying:
“You can thank Andy High, assistant pilot, for he was the one who directed the rescue.”
They made the run back to Memphis without difficulty but it was well after dark when they soared over the city. Bert had radioed the story of the rescue and the news that they would stop at Memphis and leave the refugees. The airport was aglow with lights and when the Goliath nosed down for an easy landing, police were taxed to the utmost to keep back the cheering throng.
Flashlights boomed as newspaper photographers snapped the refugees as they disembarked. The Red Cross was on hand to care for the unfortunate townspeople and after ascertaining that the weather was fair, the Goliath continued its homeward journey.
The next month was a succession of busy days with further tests for the giant airship. Reports from Harry indicated the daily progress of the Neptune toward its goal in the Arctic, first to Plymouth, England, on to Bergen, Norway, then toward the Arctic with the last stop at King’s Bay, Spitzbergen.
Preparations at Bellevue were now centering on the flight to the Arctic. Special oils for the motors were arriving as well as equipment and clothing for the officers and crew. Insulation of the engine rooms and the gondola was increased to stand the colder temperatures of the northland. The tentative date for the start of the flight was set for July 10th and the month of June rolled away as though on magic wheels.
Harry radioed from King’s Bay that the Neptune was about ready to start the final dash to the pole. On the 20th of June he reported that they were nosing out of the bay, running on the surface. A few hours later came the news that the Coast of Spitzbergen was disappearing over the horizon and that the Neptune was headed north into the land of eternal ice and snow.
The exchange of mail by the Goliath and Neptune had attracted the attention of stamp collectors in all parts of the world and extra mail clerks were brought to Bellevue to handle the hundreds of letters which had been sent there for mailing aboard the Goliath, which would transfer the pouches when it met the Neptune at the North Pole. The amount of mail had been limited to five tons, a total which was reached long before the date for closing the pouches was reached. A special cancellation stamp had been devised to show that the letters had been sent by the Goliath.
With the Neptune definitely slipping through the broken ice of the Arctic, the importance of Bert’s task of keeping in touch with the Neptune increased and he almost lived in the radio room of the Goliath.
The days marched by in a steady procession. Daily reports from Harry indicated that ice conditions were most favorable and that the Neptune was finding much clear water. Occasionally it was necessary to dive under some particularly stubborn ice field but this had not happened often.
Then things changed; high winds prevailed in the northland; progress was retarded; ice jammed in front of the Neptune; static set up a wall of interference that was almost impossible to break through; messages from Harry were few and far between, and lines of worry deepened as Bert and Andy waited anxiously in the radio room.
On the 28th of June a wave of static turned back every query sent into the Arctic. On the 29th the same conditions prevailed. When the static cleared on the 30th of June, Bert called in vain for the Neptune but there was no answer.
After a rough crossing of the Atlantic from New York to Plymouth, England, where the Neptune had put in to replenish its supply of fuel, the cruise of the polar submarine had been much smoother and Harry had really enjoyed his trip. The daily talks by radiophone with Bert, Serge and Andy were the high spots of the day for he missed the pleasure of their companionship.
His first days aboard the Neptune had been miserable with the weather rough and his stomach turning flip-flops every time he tried to eat. But after leaving Plymouth and heading north for Bergen he had found the sub and its tricks to his liking. Bob Smith, first officer of the Neptune, was not much older than Harry. Bob was a navy man, loaned to Gilbert Mathews especially for the Polar cruise, and he was thoroughly at home in the underwater craft.
From Bergen to King’s Bay, Spitzbergen, was a lonely voyage for there are few ships in the Arctic. An occasional gull wheeling overhead, stray bergs drifting by, and the eternal blue of the cold North Atlantic was all they saw day after day. Harry kept the radio humming with the press messages which the explorer sent back to his syndicate in New York. One method Mathews had used in spreading out the cost of the trip was the sale of exclusive stories of what went on aboard the Neptune to a newspaper syndicate. Morning and afternoon stories were required and Harry, who was adept at writing a readable story, was often pressed into service to write the daily dispatch.
Weather favored them all the way to King’s Bay, where they were to make their final stop for supplies, which had been sent on ahead by steamers.
Harry deserted his post and went up on deck when Bob called down to inform him that they were slipping into King’s Bay, scene of the start of many a famous Arctic flight. It was from here that Byrd and Floyd Bennett had made their dash to the North pole, to be followed a few days later by Nobile and Ellsworth in the Italian dirigible Norge. It was here that Wilkins and Eielson had landed after their long flight from Alaska across the barrens of the Arctic and it was from here that the ill-fated Norge had made a second expedition into the Arctic.
By the time the sleek, black submarine had nosed its way up to the large coal dock, the entire population of King’s Bay was down to greet it. The crew and officers welcomed the opportunity to leave the Neptune and stretch their legs on land, but preparations for the trip into the Arctic were pushed with all possible haste. The weather was too favorable for any unnecessary delay and the crew worked steadily at the task of refilling fuel tanks and taking on fresh stores of food.
On the morning of the 20th of June they cast their lines off the coal dock, the big Diesels turned over smoothly, and the Neptune backed away and turned its nose toward the open bay.
As many of the crew of 31 as could crowd onto the deck watched the changing scene, and listened to the wishes for good fortune shouted by the townspeople on the dock. There was a fresh breeze in the outer bay and they were forced below by the crisp wind which sent waves slapping over the deck in steady succession.
They were in the land of the midnight sun where in summer there is no night, only a dusk as the sun dips to the horizon. At dusk the mainland of Spitzbergen was to the rear and they were slipping past Amsterdam island, which lay to their right. Ahead of them was the uncharted mystery of the Arctic ocean.
Harry was surprised at the comparative mildness of the Arctic summer but the temperature of the Arctic sea was not such that a fall overboard was inviting and as a result the outer hull of the craft was ice-cold. Special electrical heating devices had been installed in the living quarters and the control room so it was fairly comfortable inside the sub.
As they pushed northward, Gilbert Mathews and the two scientists with him kept busy in the forward torpedo room where they made soundings of the ocean depth and drew off samples from the bottom to determine the nature of the floor of the Arctic. Because of the scientific investigations, the Neptune made slow progress and it was the fourth day out before they encountered much pack ice.
Conditions were favorable for the progress of the Neptune, for the ice fields were open with wide leads between them. Occasionally a small berg scraped the side of the submarine and on the fifth day, when they encountered a solid mass of ice, the diving order was given and the Neptune, its special electrical feelers projecting ahead, slipped under the wall of ice and into the open water on the other side. Such an operation was under the direct charge of Bob Smith, who demonstrated his ability in that one brief maneuver.
The weather remained fair and on the 26th and 27th, the Neptune increased its speed for the ice was fairly open. They were following almost the same route taken by Byrd and Bennett in their successful dash by air to the North Pole. On the twenty-eighth the sky closed in on them. A cold Arctic fog obscured the sun and a wall of static shut them off from communication with the outside world. They were now well into the unknown regions of the Arctic, further north than any vessel had previously penetrated, in the region which had been seen by man only from the air.
On the night of the twenty-eighth a bitter wind whipped down out of the northwest and the leads commenced to close under the pressure of the drifting ice. The Neptune scuttled from one open area to another seeking safety but the gravity of the situation increased every minute. With the ice pack closing in, it was possible that the submarine might be caught between the ice and crushed like an egg shell for despite its sturdy construction it could not withstand the enormous pressure which the ice would exert.
Bob was glued to the controls while Gilbert Mathews searched madly for an opening through which the Neptune might slip to safety. There was none and reluctantly the order was given to submerge.
They would be safe down below for the time being but they would be unable to tell in what direction safety lay. They would have to feel their way almost blindly under the ice, hoping that they would eventually find an opening where they could rise to the surface.
Bob sent the Neptune down five fathoms and they slipped under the ice pack.
Hour after hour passed as the Neptune crept under the great mass of ice. At times it was necessary to go down to 10 and 12 fathoms but for the most part they were only five or six fathoms under the ice. The Neptune was a good underwater boat, steady and smooth-riding and the crew experienced little discomfort. There was plenty of air for 40 hours under the ice and they felt no alarm, when, at the end of twenty hours, they had failed to find an opening.
They stopped and made a test with the ice drill which had been especially designed and installed for just such an emergency but the device jammed tight before they could get it working and that avenue of escape was cut off.
When another ten hours had elapsed and they were still groping blindly under the ice. Bob expressed his private opinion that they were in a tight situation. Harry agreed as he stood beside the first officer in the control room. Another three hours slipped away and the air was heavy. Harry’s head felt light and the blood raced through his veins. Unless they found an opening soon it would be curtains for the Neptune and its crew. Gilbert Mathews relieved Bob at the main controls and the first officer walked back to the radio cubby with Harry.
“If we don’t get out of this,” he said, “no one will ever know what happened to us. They’ll have plenty of guesses and some of them will be right, but they’ll never really know. I wish you could get a message through.”
“So do I,” said Harry, “but that won’t be possible until we emerge.”
“I’m all in,” confessed Bob, “and I don’t suppose worrying will help us any. Wake me up in half an hour,” he added as he slumped down in the one comfortable canvas chair in the room.
Harry returned to the control room where a white-faced, worried crew stuck grimly to their stations.
The air was bad; lights dim. They were barely creeping forward. Several of the men dropped at their posts and were carried away by more fortunate companions. Others took their places. The chief engineer, a quiet Yankee, came in to tell the explorer that the power was going. The batteries wouldn’t last more than another hour.
There was nothing Harry could do in the control room and he returned to his own quarters. Bob was sound asleep in the chair. One dim light glowed over the now useless radio set. Harry sat down and picked up a message blank. He’d write a note to Andy and Bert. Someone might find the hulk of the submarine some day; a freak of the Arctic might cast it where it would again be viewed by man.
Harry had just started the note when he was startled by a sudden bumping and scraping. The Neptune tilted sharply. Were they headed for the bottom; crushed under the ice pack? The thought shot through Harry’s mind as he roused Bob.
There were cries from the control room. They were going up. They had found an opening in the ice pack.
Three minutes later the main hatch was thrown open and a wave of cool, fresh air swept down into the dank, stinking interior of the submarine.
They were in a small lead between the sheer walls of the ice pack. The Neptune had nosed into it blindly at a time when officers and crews had despaired of their own lives.
As soon as the batteries had been charged sufficiently, Harry tried to send out a call but the wall of static still engulfed the Arctic and his efforts were futile.
“I don’t think I got out more than a hundred miles,” he told Bob, “and there isn’t one chance in a thousand that anyone heard us.”
The Neptune remained securely in the sheltered lead all day on the 30th, crew and officers resting after the strenuous ordeal they had been through. Above them and over the ice pack a high wind raged and toward the close of day there were ominous crackings and rumblings in the ice.
With the exception of one man left in the conning tower, the crew of the Neptune was sound asleep at midnight. Two hours later they were awakened by the alarmed cries of the watch. An eerie rumbling and groaning filled the night. When they tumbled out on deck a terrifying sight greeted them. The walls of the ice pack were closing in. They were trapped in the lead!
The rapid movement of the ice was astounding. Orders cracked from the lips of Gilbert Mathews and Bob Smith. The crew tumbled back into the submarine. The main hatch was slammed and battened down. A crash dive was in order. They were going under the ice again.
Harry dreaded the thought. The last time their margin of safety had been slim; too slim. This time they might not come up.
The tension inside the Neptune was terrific as Bob gave the orders for the dive. Valves were opened wide; water roared into the diving tanks. The Neptune settled swiftly. The conning tower was almost under when there was a terrific bump. Their downward motion stopped. The water continued to rush into the diving tanks but the depth indicated remained motionless.
“We’re caught on an ice shelf,” cried the explorer.
“Blow the tanks and we’ll get back to the surface,” commanded Bob. “We won’t have a chance if we’re caught by the ice under water.”
Compressed air whistled into the diving tanks and the needle of the depth gauge quivered and moved upward. With a rush they were back on the surface.
The walls of the ice had moved closer. There was the steady thunder of the pack as the pressure increased and miles of ice, driven by the biting gale, moved forward, crushing all before it.
Under Gilbert Mathews’ direction, members of the crew made hasty soundings. To their dismay it was found that the tremendous pressure of the advancing ice had driven a shelf of it under them. There wasn’t a single hole large enough to allow them to dive through to the comparative safety of the depths.
In the next seconds a tremendous decision must be made: Should they stay with the Neptune or abandon the submarine and attempt to escape over the ice?
The walls of ice were moving forward relentlessly, closing the gap foot by foot.
Gilbert Mathews, white-faced, grim, spoke.
“Get out the emergency equipment,” he said. “We’ll abandon the Neptune.”
For the next ten minutes the crew worked desperately. Food, tents, snowshoes, medical supplies, and the portable radio and stoves were rushed up from below. The Neptune was nosed over against the nearest wall of ice and the supplies tossed on the pack. Others of the crew, hurrying over the treacherous ice, carried the supplies back to a place of safety for the tremendous pressure which would be exerted when the walls of ice met might cause an explosion.
Harry took a final look at his beloved set before abandoning the Neptune. He tried one more desperate call but the static strangled his cry for help. They were alone in the desolate Arctic.
The Neptune abandoned to its fate, the crew retired from the edge of the ice pack. From a distance of half a mile they watched the walls of ice come together. Gilbert Mathews turned away when the first of the rumbling explosions shattered the air. Ice rose in great pyramids, shattering and flying in every direction. The pack on which they were standing quivered and moved dangerously. In several places wide gaps appeared but they were fortunate enough not to fall in.
When the pressure eased, they returned to the place where they had left the Neptune. Instead of a haven of open water they found great masses of ice, twisted and piled in grotesque fashion as though some giant of the north had been playing a game all his own.
“We’ve seen the last of the Neptune,” said Bob Smith sadly. “It was a good tub but not good enough to beat the Arctic.”
But Bob was wrong for on the far side of the twisted mass of ice they came upon the bow of the Neptune. From all appearances the shell of the submarine had withstood the terrific pressure and the undersea craft had been hurled out of the water and caught fast in the ice.
It would be impossible to use the Neptune as a means of travel but if the ice held its grip, they could live in the submarine until a rescue expedition could reach them.
Axes were brought from the supplies they had taken off the Neptune and the crew turned to the task of chopping a hole through the ice until they reached the main hatch. Working in shifts, it took them two hours to accomplish the task.
When the hatch was finally opened, Gilbert Mathews insisted that he be the first to enter for the danger of chlorine gas lurked inside the Neptune. If the batteries had upset, the deadly gas might have formed. Anxiously the crew awaited the return of their leader. They cheered wildly when he called that there was no sign of gas and they tumbled back inside for a thorough inspection. Seams had been wrenched so severely that the Neptune would sink like a rock if it ever slid into the ocean but it was dry and comfortable inside and there was plenty of fuel oil in the tanks to keep them warm for months to come.
The first thing was to send word of their plight to the outside world.
The portable radio with its aerial was set up on the ice outside and Harry sat down to send out the first message and ask for relief. The static had cleared since his last attempt and he finally picked up an amateur station at Hopedale, Labrador, to which he communicated the events which had befallen the Neptune. As nearly as possible, Harry gave their position and asked that the officers of the Goliath at Bellevue, Ky., be notified at once.
The operator at Hopedale, after recovering from the astonishment of Harry’s message, promised to relay it at once.
The hours dragged by and there was no reply from the operator at Hopedale, except that he had relayed the message to Montreal for further transmission.
The tent which had been erected around Harry’s portable set was little protection from the bitter wind and he was numb from cold and miserable when the Hopedale operator finally came back at him. The message had reached Bellevue. The reply was on the way. It cracked through the ether.
“Goliath leaves at midnight. Estimate distance to you is 5,500 miles. Should make it in 60 hours after departure. Signed, Andy High, Assistant Pilot.”
Harry ran to the Neptune with the message and the news it contained cheered them greatly. With the wind rapidly whipping into a storm, they took refuge in the warmth of the Neptune and awaited the coming of the Goliath.