CHAPTER II
WHAT A REPORTER SAW IN THE DARK
WHAT A REPORTER SAW IN THE DARK
WHAT A REPORTER SAW IN THE DARK
Stewart, the reporter who had been working in the American Aeroplane Company’s plant for several days and who had telephoned the tip on the first flight of the wonderful new machine, reached theHeraldoffice a few minutes ahead of his schedule. He was hot and excited. As he hurried to Mr. Latimer’s desk he drew from his pocket a wad of copy—a part of his story already prepared. The night city editor looked at the clock—he seemed always watching the clock.
“Twelve ten,” Mr. Latimer began without question or comment and waving back the proffered manuscript. “We want a column. Take an hour and do it right. Tell what you saw—don’t speculate. Tell about the new machine, and don’t be technical. We’ll make the ‘lead’ when we see what you’ve got—”
“This is ready now,” interrupted Stewart, mopping his brow. “I did it on the train.”
“Use it in your story; put it together yourself. It’s for the last edition. By the way, you didn’t find what they’re going to do with the new airship?”
“Everything but that,” confessed Stewart. “No one in the factory seems to know. But it seems to me that they’ll certainly use it first to cut down the time on that New York-Chicago airship line. Four or five hours to Chicago would be quite a card.”
“Why not fifteen hours across the Atlantic?” asked Mr. Latimer with a significant twinkle in his eyes.
“You’re right,” exclaimed Stewart. “I hadn’t thought of that. Say, that’s great; first airship across the ocean. Sure! They can do it. That’s the idea. That’s my ‘lead’—”
The night city editor raised his hand.
“Don’t bother about the ‘lead.’ Do what I told you: write what you saw and a description of the machine. And you might start right away if you like.”
Stewart, coat off and pipe going, was just well into his story when Chambers reported from Governor’s Island. He had seen Colonel Grant.
“But,” explained the reporter to Mr. Latimer over the telephone, “he said it was too late to talk to-night. He’s offered to prepare a statement for me to-morrow.”
“What did he say to-night?” snapped the night city editor.
“Well, he said America ought to be proud of its advance in aeronautics; that there were great possibilities in aerial navigation—”
“Yes,” broke in Mr. Latimer, “but did you think to mention what I told you to ask him? What military prestige it would give a country to own the first aeroplane that could fly two hundred miles an hour?”
“Yes, sir,” was the prompt answer, “but he said he’d rather not be quoted on that.”
“What was it?”
“He said he rather thought it might give prestige to any one of the great nations and that if America had such a ship that it ought to keep it and not let some European government snap it up. He said, as a nation, he thought we were rather behind the other powers in the development of the airship in a military and naval way.”
“Did you promise not to quote him?”
“No, sir. But—”
“Glidden,” called Mr. Latimer to that young man, who had just returned, “here’s Chambers on the wire at Governor’s Island. He’s had a talk with Colonel Grant: hot stuff about neglect of government to develop airships for naval andmilitary purposes: thinks our new aeroplane gives us balance of power among the big nations. Take it and get up a good story on it. Here’s Glidden, Chambers,” he continued, turning to the telephone again, “he’ll take your stuff.”
A moment later Glidden was at a desk and the waiting Chambers had been switched to him. With almost one movement the more experienced Glidden caught up the receiver and, with a piece of paper rescued from the floor and a stub of a pencil borrowed from a man next to him, was ready.
“Shoot it, Chambers,” was his salutation and the interview was under way.
Several pages of Stewart’s story had now reached Mr. Latimer’s desk. Before he gave it his attention, he took up Winton’s matter on the Airship Boys and glanced hurriedly through it. This apparently called for no comment and he passed it at once to Dick, the head copy reader.
“Here’s the first of that two-column story for the last edition. It’s the last ‘add.’ Use all of it. There’ll be a talk with Colonel Fred Grant to follow the main story.”
Dick shuffled the sheets together without a glance at the words on them, spiked the pages on a spindle, readjusted his pipe and raised his green eye shade.
“Who’s writin’ the story?” was his only response.
“Stewart,” said Mr. Latimer.
“A cub?” grunted Dick as he looked at the watch on the blotter before him. Then he jerked his head to show the contempt all old copy readers feel for inexperienced reporters. “It’s twelve thirty,” he added as a part of his groan.
“He may not be a cub after to-night,” was Mr. Latimer’s tart rejoinder as he at last tackled Stewart’s copy.
“At ten twenty o’clock last night,” Stewart’s story began, “an airship that is undoubtedly destined to make the first flight across the Atlantic ocean, was given a secret test from the yards of the American Aeroplane Company’s plant in South Newark.
“That the experimental flight was successful in every way is attested by the fact that this newest and most complete aeroplane was in the air twenty-five minutes and attained a speed of between 180 and 200 miles an hour. The flight was cloaked in mystery and the only spectators were the inventors and owners of the airship, the superintendent and the president of the Aeroplane Company and a reporter for theHerald.
“While every effort has been made to keep any intelligence of the new marvel from reaching the public at the present time, the record breaking test made last night was observed and timed. This mechanical, sky-piercing meteor was driven by man thirty or forty miles out to sea and, concealed by the shadows of night, it returned successfully and unseen directly over the skyscrapers of New York.”
Without reading further Mr. Latimer reached for a pad of copy paper, a pencil and his shears. In a few minutes Stewart’s carefully prepared story had been transformed by scissors, paste pot, interlineations and new lines into this:
“This mechanical sky-piercing meteor last night set what may be the ultimate record for man’s aerial flight. Three miles in sixty seconds or one hundred and eighty miles an hour, is the last proof of man’s complete conquest of the air. With London but fifteen hours from New York, the crossing of the Atlantic is assured. And, in the language of Colonel Fred Grant, ‘this assures the superiority of the United States as a naval power.’
“This new marvel was given its initial test last night. At ten twenty o’clock the airship that is destined to revolutionize aeronautics, rose mysteriously from the yards of the American Aeroplane Company’s plant in South Newark.Within the next twenty-five minutes it had darted forty miles straight out to sea and then, concealed by the shadows of night, returned successfully and unseen, directly over the sleeping skyscrapers of lower New York.
“This historic flight, cloaked in darkness, was made with no spectators other than the inventors and owners of the airship, the superintendent and the president of the aeroplane works and a reporter for theHerald. While every effort had been made to keep intelligence of the wonderful invention from the public at the present time, an account of the secret test as well as a complete description of the aeroplane itself, is given herewith in detail.”
By the time the copy boy had laid Stewart’s next batch of copy on the night city editor’s desk Mr. Latimer had passed all of the first “take,” marked “lead to come,” over to Dick, the head copy reader, and the big aeroplane “beat” was on its way into print. Few changes were made in the rest of Stewart’s story. Having finished his first few pages and reached the real narrative, he wrote rapidly and easily.
The inexperienced young reporter had done his work well. For several days he had been in the service of the Aeroplane Company as a common workman in the yards. In that time, with his eyes open and by skillful questioning, he had succeeded in striking up an acquaintance with one of the skilled enginemen working on the new car. From this man he had wormed the general details of the aircraft and learned that a test of the completed aeroplane was to be made.
These things were not told in his story but he did describe graphically and in a way that made Mr. Latimer nod his head in approval, everything to be seen by the eye from the time the great tandem-planed sky vehicle was rolled out into the yard and lifted itself cloudward until it sank in the same spot again twenty-five minutes later.
When those pages of his story reached the desk Mr. Latimer rose and hurried to the busy writer’s side.
“How did you know they were going to pull this off to-night?” he asked.
“I didn’t. But I guessed it would be at night. I meant to watch each night—”
“Where were you?”
“On the roof.”
“You’re doing very well. Good stuff,” was his superior’s comment. “Get it in a column.”
There wasn’t a great deal that the young reporter could write of the actual flight. The ship-like structure had been wheeled out of the gloom of the canvas-sided setting-up room into the yellow glare of half a dozen yard torches. It rumbled heavily—more like a heavy truck than the flimsy airships Stewart had seen. Then, for some minutes, several persons had passed back and forth by means of a step ladder into an enclosed part of the great, metallic-glinting structure. From the lights that flared up and died out in the big torches he knew that his first night’s vigil was to be rewarded with something.
“At ten fifteen o’clock,” he described in his story, “only a vast expanse of metal, cables and truss could be seen vaguely as those busy about the towering superstructure moved a torch or climbed into or out of the mammoth enclosed frame. Just before ten twenty o’clock an engine started suddenly somewhere within the ship-like body of the winged wonder. A little later, a brief burst of light within the central enclosure threw into sudden view two rows of flashing portholes. Like the bow of a miniature ocean steamer, the front of the shadowy structure stood, for a moment, clearly defined in the night.
“Halfway up the side of the vessel extended a railing-protected gallery that indicated two decks. Along the lower of these ran a second gallery. The forward part of the upper deck was plainly a pilot house, from the rounded front of which, through two small heavily glassed openings, shot antennaelike feelers of light into the black factory yard. Behind this section the skeletonlike gallery led astern along what were apparently three more rooms. Passing these, the gallery ascended the rounded side of the giant car and disappeared sternward in the form of a protected path or bridge. The front of the lower deck resembled the dark hold of a freight vessel. In the rear, a door opening from this gallery revealed, through a glare of light, an engine room, now the center of much activity.
“Herein two young men hung over a puzzle of levers, wheels and valves while a third was just climbing into the gallery by means of a drop ladder or landing stage.
“‘What’s the use of all this illumination?’ called the young man just mounting the machine. ‘Why not send out cards?’ he added, laughing.
“One of the boys in the engine room stuck his head outside, glanced about and chuckled. As he disappeared within again, there was a snap and the lights outlining the air machine turned black. Then came the renewed sound of feet hurryingback and forth on metal runways; doors opened and closed and, where deck lights had flooded the strange craft, only the thin rays of electric hand torches indicated persons moving about. One of several men on the ground below now made his way up the ladder to the landing stage and by this to the lower deck gallery, where two of the moving lights were suddenly focussed. Words passed in low tones and, in a few moments, the glow of a green-shaded light appeared through the suddenly reopened door of the pilot house.
“Almost at the same time, but from the distant offices of the aeroplane factory, broke out the staccato of a wireless sender in operation. Those on the lower gallery waited in silence until a voice called from the pilot house:
“‘All right, Ned; fine and dandy; the operator sayssuccess and speed.’
“‘Good,’ was the quick response. ‘Come on down, Bob; we’re off.’
“As the light in the pilot cabin winked out, the same voice continued, ‘Good-bye, Mr. Osborne. We’ll be back in half an hour. Stay by the wireless. We’ll keep in touch with you every few minutes.’ ‘Good-bye,’ called another voice and then the man who had just mounted the landing ladder made his way quickly to the ground.”
When Stewart’s account of the aeroplane test had reached this point, Dick, the copy reader, shuffled the pages of the last “take” like a deck of cards and snorted.
“This is fine,” he said, with a despairing look, addressing Mr. Latimer, “but I thought he was goin’ to tell something. Here’s six hundred words and he hasn’t got anywhere yet—”
“Let it stand,” was Mr. Latimer’s snappy order. “It’s good stuff.”
“Simultaneously,” continued Stewart’s story, “the sound of the engine in operation deepened into an almost inaudible note. Then this was doubled as if a second power had been put in operation. A shaded light shone in the engine room and the pilot house door opened and closed. There was thetap-tapof swift footsteps on the lower gallery, one of those aboard sprang up the steps to the top gallery and then a light flashed at intervals along the ladderlike runway on the rear truss. Some one was inspecting the shadowy bridge.
“Far in the rear the hurrying figure dropped through what seemed a small manhole in the truss frame. Half within the tapering, spiderlike construction the person appeared to press a button. There was a sharp buzz in the pilot cabin. Thenthe figure with the light ran swiftly forward inside the hollow frame of the tail of the airship and disappeared through a self-closing door into the engine cabin.
“Two powerful engines were apparently in full operation. There was the sound of a quick voice in the engine room as if someone were shouting through a tube.
“‘All ready here and astern, Ned,’ could be distinguished. Then, at the resonant single tap of a gong in reply, powerful clutches must have been instantly applied. The aeroplane’s propellers began their wide sweep. Faster and faster they moved, until, as the closed engine room door opened once more and one of the young men passed out onto the gallery, the wide-reaching metal bird suddenly sprang forward. But it was only for a short distance. Within fifty feet, it lifted in the air and, once off the ground, its bow darted skyward like the beak of a frightened bird.
“‘Don’t forget your lights!’ yelled the figure on the gallery as the airship swept upward, ‘and keep the wireless goin’.’ While he was speaking the swift propellers had already carried the car beyond hearing.”