CHAPTER XIII
ROY OSBORNE’S “PICK-UP CRANE”
ROY OSBORNE’S “PICK-UP CRANE”
ROY OSBORNE’S “PICK-UP CRANE”
Just before one o’clock on the afternoon of June 21 ten persons sat down to luncheon in the private dining room of the American Aeroplane factory. President J. W. Atkinson, of the company, and Mrs. Atkinson; Chief Engineer Osborne and Mrs. Osborne; Night City Editor Latimer, of theNew York Herald, and the five members of the crew of the giant aeroplane—theOcean Flyer. These were, Ned Napier, captain and pilot; Alan Hope, first officer and pilot; Roy Osborne, observer and calculator; Robert Russell, engineer, and Buckingham Stewart, “assistant engineer” and “English pilot.”
Not a member of this crew had been in bed less than ten hours the night before. And, as an athletic trainer would have expressed it, there had been only “light work” that morning. One after another, the Airship Boys and their associates had met at the setting-up room of the big plant where, from time to time, many of the older employesof the works had also gone for a last inspection of the aerial craft that was soon to start on its astounding voyage seaward in an attempt to cross the Atlantic—to make good its projector’s prophecy of “New York to London in Twelve Hours.”
“But, remember,” explained Captain Napier more than once to those who persisted in crowding around him, “I’m frank to confess we’re going to take advantage of a technicality in our attempt to do this. And the twelve hour trip, if we can make it, will be from London to New York—not eastward. At the speed we have planned to make, we couldn’t do it; we’d have to be in the air seventeen hours. Going over, we’ve got to add five hours and a fraction to this because of the time we lose; that’ll make us twenty-two hours going. We ought to reach London between twelve and one o’clock to-morrow. But coming back,” and Ned’s face showed a grin, “look out! We’ll gain five hours in clock time. We’re goin’ to start back at one thirty P. M. We’ll be in the air seventeen hours again but we’ll get here in twelve hours by the watch—at one thirty the next morning.”
So far the big aeroplane had not made a single daylight flight. Every test had been made under cover of darkness. And in spite of the long voyage now about to begin and all the activity thatthis had necessitated, the secret of theOcean Flyerhad not passed beyond its makers and their friends. With fuel, chemical and lubricator tanks full, every tool and appliance in place, provisions and clothing aboard, the final inspection of the car took place just before noon when Mrs. Atkinson and Mrs. Osborne went aboard.
Roy Osborne, the young professional who was to act as observer and assistant to the pilot, hardly needs a description. About the age of Ned and Alan, he was already an experienced aviator. More than once he had represented the Aeroplane Company on daring and dangerous airship expeditions. When not so employed he was the factory expert testing new machines. He also had a national reputation, and considering his mother’s aversion to having him undertake the present trip, the boys were doubly fortunate in signing him as a member of the crew. Mrs. Osborne had only consented after her husband, Chief Engineer Osborne, had decided that there wasn’t a mechanical defect in the new aeroplane and that, in his judgment, it had better than an even chance to make a successful flight.
In spite of some forced joviality the luncheon was not very lively.
“Don’t eat too much, boys,” suggested Buck Stewart. “The pantry is well stocked. I’m going to serve tea about five o’clock, dinner at seven and supper at midnight, wind and weather permitting.”
“You mean Captain Napier permitting,” suggested Bob. “We’ll probably eat and sleep when he gives the word.”
“In less than an hour, Roy,” spoke up Ned, evading comment on the statement, “we’ll find out all about your ‘pick up crane.’ If it don’t work,” he went on with a smile, “and our freight is dumped into the sea, we’ll come about, hang you through the engine room trap and make you pick it up with your hands.”
“Give me the wheel,” answered Roy with spirit, “and I’ll pick it up. But my crane won’t reach out and grab your bundle unless you put the machine where it ought to go.”
These references were to the devices installed on theHerald’ssea tug and on the airship for picking up the matrices while in flight. A somewhat enlarged copy of Roy’s land crane had been selected. The tug, of twenty-foot beam, was equipped with two twenty-foot masts stepped abaft the engine house. These provided a space of fifteen feet in the clear between their tops.Some experience in tackling a foot ball dummy had given Roy the idea for the equipment of these spars. On the top of each, to which it was elevated by a block and tackle, was a spring hook that released instantly under sharp pressure. Between these hooks extended a looped rope or cable, to the center of which was attached the article to be taken aboard by the flying car.
On the aeroplane, well to the front, a hinged metal arm dropped about ten feet below the car bottom. It was in the shape of a long, acute letter V with one side against the bottom of the airship and the other pointing forward on a wide angle at its mouth. The acute end of the arm ended at the trap door in the bottom of the engine room. Rushing toward the freight to be loaded, suspended between the masts and held by the spring hooks, the metal V crane would be lowered in place. As its arm passed under either the freight itself or the cable holding it, the metal crane would guide the package or cable swiftly along the angle until the narrowing slot of the apex caught and held the object. At the impact, the spring hooks released the suspension cable and the motion of the aeroplane held the freed article until it could be secured through the trap door. At the apex of the crane the arms were jointedand held in place by a bolt. By loosening this, the lower arm could be folded parallel with the upper one and thus made fast against the car bottom until needed again.
“I’d think you’d have a net, like those on street cars,” suggested Buck.
“When you can tell us how to use a net without danger of knocking your freight farther from you, we’ll be glad to try it,” answered Roy.
“You can’t pick up a passenger with it, can you?” went on Buck, who was desperately trying to make conversation.
“No,” answered Roy, “and I don’t know any way to take on and land passengers when trains are going sixty miles an hour.”
When some one commented on the absence of Major Honeywell from the luncheon it was soon explained that he would be on theHeraldtug, preferring to get the latest possible view of the departingFlyer. At half past one o’clock Mr. Atkinson’s telephone called Ned. It was theHeraldeditor who only wished to give the voyageurs good luck, to ask if everything was ready and to announce that the program of theTelegramwould be carried out on the minute.
“You have theHeraldcode book,” were his parting words. “Try to send me advices from Ipswich and Nova Scotia if you can. In London, theHeraldrepresentatives will look after your arrival. Don’t bother about anything but getting safely across and back. You have the best wishes of theHerald. Good-bye and good luck.”
Ned and those about him did not know that the great editor, as he hung up his receiver, sighed and for a moment leaned his head in his hand. The journalist realized that he was sending five young men on a mission in which there were overpowering odds of death unnoted in time and unmarked in place. Then he thought of the time when, as a young reporter, he rode six days with the thermometer forty below zero to interview Sitting Bull, and he was an editor again.
Since it had also been decided that theTelegramas printed in London was to contain matter describing theOcean Flyerand a brief “advance” story of its plan of flight, it was accepted as inevitable that these details would return to all American newspapers in time for publication the same morning that theHeraldprinted its own elaborate account. It was planned, therefore, that theHeraldwas to arrange to publish a much fuller and better story by using, in addition to the story in hand, the log of theFlyerfor the description of the actual flight, and to augment this byadding the particulars of the start in Newark as well as a graphic account of what took place while the aeroplane was in London.
This accounted in part for Mr. Latimer’s presence at the luncheon. He had assigned himself the duty of preparing the story of the start. He had also another mission. While making his first inspection of the aircraft that morning he had arranged with Bob Russell for a lively account of both flights to be ready on the return and to be delivered with the great coronation story.
“I ain’t puttin’ anybody’s nose out of joint, am I?” asked Bob at once when first approached on this subject.
“Whose nose?” asked Mr. Latimer wonderingly.
“Stewart’s, of course,” answered Bob. “He’s theHeraldman, you know.”
“But I thought Stewart wasn’t coming back!” said the night city editor.
“I know he isn’t,” answered Bob with a wink. “But what if he does?”
“In that event,” replied Mr. Latimer, smiling, “he won’t need any instructions. We can count on him for twice what we can use. And we’ll run it as ‘The Only Passenger’s Story.’”
By two o’clock, each of the crew—except Ned—had gone through the final formality of farewell and mounted into the car. The big aeroplane, silent and strong, stood on the starting-ways facing the east, as if anxious for the touch that was to start its planes into vibrant life. Just within the open window of Mr. Atkinson’s office Mr. Latimer sat at the telephone, watch in hand. Just without, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows but with a heavy gray sweater on his arm, stood Ned. And, as in all crucial moments, the editor and Ned were speaking of the thing least related to their real thoughts. As if wholly unconcerned with the things about them they talked of trout fishing in Wisconsin.
When the telephone rang and the newspaper man responded he turned to Ned again with no excitement in his voice.
“The last form has gone to the stereotyping room,” he remarked almost casually.
“One fifty-six,” replied the boy outside.
“Correct,” answered Latimer. “They’ll be on time.”
Three minutes later the instrument called him again.
“It’s off,” he announced in a low voice. “We won’t hear from them again.”
At that instant the wireless operator rushed from the adjoining room and the coatless and hatless Bob—already in overalls—sprang onto theFlyerlower gallery.
“They’ve started,” yelled both, almost together.
Ned smiled and held out his hand to the night city editor.
“Until we meet again,” he said.
“Remember me to the king,” was the journalist’s only reply as he shook hands and Ned walked slowly toward the mounting steps. Part way to the car he paused, turned and hurriedly retraced his steps. Mr. Atkinson, watch in hand, was approaching from a group of several hundred employees. Ned lifted his cap to the assembled onlookers and then caught the president by the sleeve.
“I don’t know that we’ll need it,” he said with a laugh, “but I just remembered we haven’t any money. Have you a thousand dollars in the office?”
The two entered the office. At six minutes after two o’clock Alan appeared on the upper gallery, watch in hand and an expression of concern in his face. About the same moment Mr. Atkinson and Ned reappeared, the latter carrying a package of bills.
“Don’t leave without me,” called out Ned, waving his arm to show the money. “I almost forgot; we may have to pay some fines in the big town if we’re arrested.”
“It’s eight minutes after two,” was Alan’s anxious reply.
“Don’t worry,” called back Ned as he advanced, “feeling” the direction of the breeze with his raised hand. “I’d rather be a little late than too early.” Then, at the foot of the ladder, he turned to Mr. Latimer again. “As I was saying,” he continued, addressing the night city editor, “when we get back, if you’ll take about ten days off, I’ll show you the best fishin’ spot in Wisconsin.”
If those congregated near the airship had the impression that Captain Napier would start with some ceremony or formality they were disappointed. Although Alan, Bob, Roy Osborne and Buck were now on the gallery above, each in some stage of excitement or concern, Ned made his way up the ladder as calmly as if preparing for one of the nightly tests.
His first words aboard were, “Buck, you seem to have less to do than any one else. We’d better make you purser as well as steward. Here’s a thousand dollars,” and he shoved the bills intothe reporter’s hands. “Take care of it till we need it. And now a last word to everybody: the rolling and plunging of a vessel on the water is steadiness itself compared with some of the sudden motions theFlyermay make; do not pass from one part of the ship to another except when necessary and do not fail, on the galleries or top deck, to keep a hand on the rail. It’s a few minutes after two o’clock. All hands stand by their stations for the signal and we’ll be off.”
Just as Alan and Roy sprang up the store room ladder to reach the pilot house and Bob and Buck were entering the engine room, an employee rushed from Mr. Atkinson’s office.
“TheHeraldwants Mr. Latimer,” he shouted.
The latter glanced at Ned inquiringly and the boy nodded his head.
“Go ahead,” exclaimed Ned. “It’s probably an O. K. message for us. We’ll wait.”
Within two minutes—Ned’s associates having once more appeared on the upper and lower galleries with no attempt to conceal their impatience—the night city editor hurried toward the car again.
“From the office,” he said in a low tone to the boys above him, for as yet none of the spectators were advised of the mission of the aeroplane.“They’ve just received word that the English government authorities have prohibited airship flights over London during the coronation exercises.”
“London—the big London—or just the city?” inquired Captain Ned.
“Over London: that’s the message. The office wants to know if you’ll wait till it talks with the managing editor down at the marine office.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late,” answered Ned.
“Two twelve,” exclaimed Alan, whose watch had not been out of his hand since two o’clock.
“It’s too late,” repeated Ned. “Tell your folks everything stands as it was. We’ll put it over. Are you all ready, Mr. Engineer?” went on Ned. Bob’s eyes snapped.
“All ready, sir.”
“Start your engines.”
As if an electric button had been pressed, first one and then the other big turbine began moving. With neither jar nor noise the circular engines spun faster and faster until the ceaseless, muffled explosions fell into a soft, continuous purr of power. For a few seconds Ned stood at the engine door. Then, with a slight wave of the hand to those standing almost breathless on the ground below, Captain Napier walked forward until he was beneath the open door of the pilot room above.
“Are you ready, Mr. Hope?”
“Two, twelve, twenty-eight,” came from the pilot house.
“You may start at once.”
Slowly and gently, like the Alpine pebble that starts the avalanche, the eleven foot “moon propellers” began moving. Taking time to draw on his sweater, Ned hurried aft on the gallery to the companionway leading to the upper gallery and thence to the top deck. As he appeared on this the propellers had already attained a speed that drove the near-by spectators to flight. Then, suddenly, the streams of compressed air began to sing in the terrifying moan of a coming cyclone. As Ned made his way forward on the narrow elevated deck the storm broke; the cyclone burst.
Under the most powerful propellers ever made, theOcean Flyersurrendered. It ran forward twenty yards as if trying to escape the terrific power grasping it, tossed its head sideways two or three times and then, the ingenuity of man annihilating gravity, the heavy airship left the ground. As if falling from a great height, it plunged forward at increased speed. The seventeen hour flight had begun.