CHAPTER VIIIShips Passing in the Night
They were by this time fully embarked on their night flight, Perk continued to watch the flash beacons as though they fascinated him, more or less.
“What I’d call a big snap, if anybody asked me,” he kept telling himself from time to time. “Huh! when I was an air-mail pilot fur a short time, things wasn’t so dead easy—not a blamed light on earth or in the sky, nawthin’ but black stuff every-which-way yeou looked. Naow the guy at the stick jest keeps afollerin’ a string o’ blinkin’ ’lectric lights that point aout his course fur him. Purty soft, I’d call it, an’ no mistake either.”
When they were passing directly over one beacon that kept blinking at them apparently, with about ten seconds between each flash, he could by turning his head, see a far-away swirling gleam marking the light in their rear; while dead ahead another, equally distant, kept up an enticing flash as though bent on assuring them everything was “all right.”
“Jest one thing still wantin’ to make these here air-mail boys right happy,” he told himself; “which is a ray to beat the danged fog that mixes things up like fun. When some wise guy finds a way to send a ray o’ light through the dirty stuff, so’s yeou kin see a mile away as if the air was clear as a bell, then flyin’ blind is agoin’ to lose all its terrors to the poor pilot. I shorely hopes to see the day that’s done.”
Later on Perk suddenly made a discovery that gave him a little fresh thrill—there was some sort of queer light almost dead ahead, that he fancied moved more or less; at any rate it was steadily growing brighter, beyond any question.
“Hot-diggetty-dig!” he muttered, still watching critically, as if hardly able to make up his mind concerning its meaning. “Looks mighty like a shootin’ star; but then I never did see one that didn’t dart daown, like it meant to bury itself in the earth. Must be a ship aheadin’ this way—mebbe a mail carrier goin’ to Atlanta to land on the same Candler Field we jest quitted—yep, that’s what it is, with a light in the cabin to keep the passengers from worryin’—sandbags ain’t any too joyful when they got to sit in the dark, with the ship hittin’ up eighty miles an hour.”
Having thus settled the identity of the strange moving light, Perk hastened to inform his mate of the discovery he had made.
“Ship’s agoin’ to pass us in the night, buddy,” he called through the aid of the indispensable earphones. “Yeou kin lamp the light straight ahead naow.”
“Yes, I’d already noticed the same, partner,” came steady Jack’s answer, as if he were not in the least disturbed, or excited by the occurrence.
“Gee whiz! but I shore hopes we doant meet head on, an’ crash,” ventured Perk, really to coax his chum to express an opinion, and thus reassure him.
“No danger of that happening, old scout!” snapped Jack; “but I’ll veer off to starboard a bit, to make doubly sure against a possible collision. Strike up our cabin light, boy, so’s to put them on their guard.”
Of course they could not catch the slightest sound to corroborate their opinion, since their own ship was making so much racket. The light came closer and closer; at the same time Jack felt positive the other aerial craft must be following his own tactics looking to safety, and steering somewhat to the right, as discretion demanded.
Perk had snatched up a kerosene lantern and hastily lighted the wick. This he now moved up and down; then swung the same completely around his head, as though he thus meant to give the other pilot a signal in the line of fellowship and aerial courtesy.
Thus the two ships passed not three hundred feet apart, yet only vaguely seen by watchful eyes. Then they were swallowed up in the gloom of the night, the moon being under a passing cloud at the time.
“Fancy aour meetin’ in space,” Perk was saying, as though rather awed by such a circumstance; “it couldn’t happen again in a month o’ blue moons, aour comin’ to grips thisaway, with millions o’ miles all ’raound us, an’ nawthin’ but chance to guide both pilots.”
“You’re on the wrong track again, partner,” Jack hastened to tell him. “Chance had little to do with this meeting; but that chain of brilliant flash beacons was wholly responsible. Just like two trains passing on a double-track railroad line—both airships were following the same marked course, and couldn’t hardly miss meeting each other. In these latter days flying has become so systematized that the element of chance has been almost wholly eliminated from the game.”
That remark kept Perk silent for some little time, the subject thus brought up was so vast, so filled with tremendous possibilities, he found himself wrestling with it as the minutes crept on.
So, too the night was passing by degrees, with their reliable Fokker keeping steadily on its way, putting miles after miles in their wake. Perk found himself growing more and more anxious for the first streak of coming dawn to show itself far off in the east, where the sun must be climbing toward the unseen horizon, and daylight making ready to disperse the cohorts of night.
Still it was always possible for him to make out the next beacon, with the aid of his binoculars, if he happened to be using them, as was often the case.
An hour and more after their “rubbing elbows” (as Perk termed it,) with the south-bound air-mail plane, once more Perk caught a suggestive beam of light ahead that told of yet another aircraft afloat, and advancing swiftly toward them, only at a much lower altitude.
“Naow I wonder whothatguy kin be,” he mused, while watching the light grow steadily larger. “Some kinder big ship in the bargain; but hardly one o’ the mail line, ’cause they doant run ’em in doubles the same way. Hi! there, partner, we got a second neighbor, agoin’ to pass under us in a minit er so. Jest a bit to the left—no danger o’ bangin’ noses this time, seems like. Gettin’ to be thickly populated, as the ole pioneer settler said when a new fambly moved in ’baout ten mile off. Mebbe we’ll live to see the day when the air o’ night’ll be studded with movin’ lights thick as the stars be—looks thataways to me, anyhaow.”
Again he signaled his good wishes with his lantern, showing as much glee as a schoolboy whirling around his first fire spitting Roman candle, on the night of the Glorious Fourth.
“Gee whiz! looky, partner—they’re answerin’ me, as shore’s yeou’re born! This is gettin’ somewhere, I’d say; an’ I’d give thirty cents to know who that guy might be.”
“Just as well there’s no way to exchange cards,” sensible Jack told the excited one. “Never forget for a minute, partner, who and what we are; and how it’s a prime part of this business to keep our light hidden under a bushel right along. Others flying for sport, or carrying on in commerce, may get a thrill from exchanging names, and hobnobbing with each other; but all that stuff is strictly taboo with men of the Secret Service.”
“Squelched again!” Perk told himself, with one of his chuckles; “an’ jest as always happens, Jack, he’s in the right—I’m forgettin’ most too often what goes to make up a successful officer of the Government, ’specially in aour line o’ trade. Guess—I mean I reckons as haow I’ll have to subside, and take it aout in thinkin’.”
Perk was certain they must have long since passed over the eastern extremity of Georgia, and were even then swinging along with South Carolina soil beneath them. Yes, and he began to figure that he could detect the faintest possible rim of light commencing to show up far off to the east, as though dawn could not be far away.
“Huh! aint agoin’ to be many more o’ them bully flash beacons lightin’ us on aour course,” he was telling himself. “Chances air we’ll be bustlin’ over aour objective right soon; when it’s goodbye to the air-mail route, an’ us a turnin’ aour noses near due south, headin’ fo’ Charleston on the seaboard, when the real fun is slated to begin. Caint come any too quick fo’ a boob that answers to the name o’ Gabe Perkiser. Yeah! that line is gettin’ some broader, right along, which tells the story as plain as print.”
Shortly afterwards he picked up a myriad of gleaming lights, that proclaimed the presence of a city of some magnitude; evidently the first sector of their flight had been reached, with a change in their course indicated.