CHAPTER XXII

EXTRACTS FROM THE LOG OF THEOcean Flyer

“June 22, 2.1´ P. M. Left Acton (London). Fair S. W. wind. Thermometer 88°. Mr. Hope at wheel. Magnetic course, N. 55° 30´ W. (N. W. 7/8 W.) Altitude 800 ft. Speed 176 miles per hour.

“June 22, 6.47´ 12´´ P. M. Finished fourth leg W. bound. Heavy S. W. wind. Thermometer 68°. Mr. Napier at wheel. Magnetic course, N. 62° W. (N. W. by W. 1/2 W.) Altitude 2,800 ft. Speed, 165 miles per hour. East bound speed average of three miles per hour dropped to 2.75 miles. Distance covered, 788 miles. Mr. Napier and Mr. Hope in consultation over loss due to increasing S. W. wind. At 4 P. M., Mr. Ballard was too ill to work. Mr. Clarke busy writing. Mr. Bowman working under difficulties owing to the motion of the ship. Mr. Stewart served dinner at 5.30´ P. M. Mr. Ballard did not appear. Mr. Bowman, the photographer, has been forward many times. Interesting descriptions by him of the royal pageant.

“June 22, 7.15´ P. M. At present rate of speed New York will be reached in 19 hours and 30 minutes. Deducting time gained, in 14-1/2 hours or at 4.30´ A. M., June 23. Wind strong and steady S. W. Thermometer falling, 65°. Present speed, 2.72 miles per minute or 163 miles per hour. Mr. Napier and Mr. Hope have gone over all calculations.

“June 22, 7.25´ P. M. Mr. Ballard has asked that Mr. Stewart be assigned to take dictation on his newspaper work. Seems very ill. Mr. Clarke complains of the cold and has borrowed a sweater.

“June 22, 7.30´ P. M. Captain Napier has decided to rise above wind which continues strong. Passengers not notified.

“June 22, 9.48´ P. M. Finished seventh leg W. bound. Got above wind at 7.40´ P. M., rising to 4,000 feet; light breeze on that level S. by E. Speed 180 miles per hour. Mr. Hope at wheel. Magnetic course N. 68 W. (W. N. W.) Altitude 6,000 feet. Five hundred and forty miles have been covered since 6.48´.24´´ total, west bound, 1,328 miles. Miles to New York, 1,890.1. Difficulty calculating speed owing to quick rise and special pressure in anemometer. Mr. Napier and Mr. Hope in frequent consultation. Mr. Russell is preparing newspaper copy at his engine post. Mr. Stewart yet engaged with Mr. Ballard.”

These brief and colorless notes by Observer Osborne give little indication of what was occurring on theFlyer. When the last calculation was made just before ten o’clock it was plain, unless a change came at once that the great experiment was to be, in part at least, a failure. With only one thousand three hundred and twenty-eight miles covered in seven hours and forty-eight minutes the problem before the aviators was hard enough.

Although by taking the 6,000 foot level at seven forty o’clock they had escaped the stiff southwest breeze and had since averaged three miles a minute they were now so far behind their schedule that one hundred and eighty miles an hour would not save them from defeat. In addition, the higher flight was telling on all. Mr. Clarke had borrowed an overcoat and was working in gloves. Mr. Ballard was buried under blankets.

“We’ve got eighteen hundred and ninety miles before us,” explained Captain Ned. “If we can’t beat a three mile a minute gait for that distance, it’ll be nearly half past three o’clock in the morning when we land. That makes it impossible toget anything—stories or pictures—in the regular editions. And the biggest card of our assignment is to get these things in the regular editions. An ‘extra’ will take the edge off success.”

“Well,” said Alan determinedly, “you know we always have a last resort. It means compressed air and polar temperature. But, there’s the high altitude!”

“A shade under three miles and a half a minute will do it,” Ned announced.

“That’s over two hundred miles an hour,” suggested Roy.

“It’s three and forty-two hundredths miles a minute,” added Ned, “or two hundred and five and two-tenths miles an hour. We’ll try it!”

“Can you watch the compressed air tubes and gauges and keep up your other work?” asked Alan, turning to Roy.

“We’ll have to do that,” broke in Ned. “Let Roy stick to his work. He’s got to watch the aerometer readings and the wind pressure chart. We’ll all know when theairis wrong, but his speed figures must be watched.”

“Are you goin’ to tell our passengers?” asked Roy.

“We’ll have Buck watch their rooms and open the foul air exhausts when it’s necessary,” suggested Ned. “Bob can watch the lower compartments—”

“How about the temperature? If we get down below freezing, they’ll know that something is wrong,” Alan exclaimed.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it,” argued Ned.

This decided, Ned hastened below to advise Bob of the desperate chance to be taken. Together the two boys overhauled the heavy clothing in the store room and got it into the pilot house.

“I hope it won’t get too cold,” Bob said in the midst of their efforts. “I’m workin’ on my story of the trip across and back.” He showed Ned a bunch of neat copy. “I’m keepin’ it down but it’s a pretty big story.”

When Buck was summoned from Mr. Ballard’s stateroom, he received the notification of what was to be done, with no excitement. It was apparent that his present work almost wholly engrossed his thoughts.

“How’s your patient?” asked Alan laughing.

“Mr. Ballard? Oh, he’s all right. I mean he’s all wrong. That is, he’s still sick. He’s been asleep.”

“Asleep?” exclaimed Ned. “And what have you been doin’ meanwhile? Holdin’ his hands?”

“Why, I’m writin’ his story.”

“While he’s asleep?”

“Sure! Why not? Someone has to do it. But—ssh! Don’t say a word to that fellow Clarke!”

“How are you writin’ if he’s asleep?” persisted Ned curiously.

“Oh, he told me a lot himself and then there’s the papers they brought aboard—”

“And you’re makin’ a story out of that? When you weren’t near the place!”

“Mr. Bowman was!” went on Buck chafing his stiffened fingers. “And I think he saw more than Mr. Ballard did. I’m gettin’ along all right.”

“Well,” exclaimed Alan, “be sure that our guests do. We’re goin’ up considerable and if you get too busy ‘assisting’ Mr. Ballard you may kill ’em all. Watch your exhausts in the three rooms. Don’t suffocate yourself and them—”

“What time is it?” broke in Buck, his mind back on his work already.

“Ten o’clock!”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll be through by one or half past—maybe.”

“And at twelve o’clock,” said Ned, “remember that coffee and food is due.”

With a last examination of all ports and doors, at ten o’clock, Ned at the barometer and barograph and Roy at the aerometer and statoscope, Alan headed theFlyerstill further skyward. At twelve o’clock, midnight, the following entry appeared in theFlyerlog:

“June 22, 12 midnight. Have made 439 miles since 9, 48´ 24´´. Time between observations 2, 11´ 36´´ or 3.33 miles a minute. Between 3.40 and 3.50 miles a minute expected on 1,451.1 miles yet to be covered. All suffering from cold. Thermometer 6° above zero. Altitude 24,612 feet. No trouble with fuel or oil. Lubricator heaters turned on at 10.30 o’clock. Air funnel working well but must be watched closely. On instructions from Captain Napier New York time now substituted for London time. New York time of this entry is 7 P. M.”

For seven long hours after this entry was made in the log of theOcean Flyer, the giant airship sped like a shooting star toward the distant west. Above the clouds and above the unseen sea, it held its course with never a lessening beat of its ceaseless engines. To most of those within the spectre shape, time and distance had now lost their meaning. Each port and window was heavy with frost and each occupant was shivering from the intense cold. By ten o’clock few sounds were heard except the heavy purr of the engine and the vibrantnotes of the great wings as they cracked in the wintry air. Talk had ceased except in the few low words that passed at intervals between the man at the wheel and Roy at the observer’s table—the limbs of the latter stiff under the furs he wore but his brain active under the pressure of the work that meant so much to all.

Mr. Ballard was yet silent beneath extra clothing and blankets. In the next room the photographer shivered beneath the doubled bed covers. Buck and Mr. Clarke sat with Bob in the engine room, cold but philosophical, making talk of the journey and what it meant. After thirteen hours of work, the coronation story and Mr. Bowman’s pictures were ready for theHerald. Copy and pictures, carefully marked and sealed, were enclosed in wrappings. Four hours more and the strain would be at an end—or worse.

A stupor had fallen on the physical activity of Ned, Alan and Bob. But their mental alertness had not dulled. With no more words than were necessary, the three young men guided the wonderful craft onward as they steeled themselves against the dread of failure and the numbing cold. Just after ten o’clock, New York time, Buck served hot tea to the silent ones in the pilot room.

“We’re almost over the ocean, aren’t we?” he asked, chattering.

“I think we were over Newfoundland about nine thirty o’clock,” answered Ned in a tired voice. “What’s the time, now?” he asked abruptly of Alan who was then at the wheel.

“Ten six,” was the brief answer.

“And the course?” he added, facing Roy.

“West, one-half south,” answered Roy without spirit. It was the third time he had announced this in the last half hour. By his figures theFlyerwas over Fogo Island at 9:36 P. M.

“What d’ you know about that?” yelled Buck climbing awkwardly down the ladder. “We’re over America again—a half hour ago.”

“How far is it now?” asked Mr. Clarke, slowly as if the words were an effort.

“Only eleven hundred miles,” answered Bob.

“Eleven hundred—?” sighed the London reporter. Then he became silent and his head sank between his numb, gloved hands.

At eleven o’clock Buck and Bob prepared food—soup and coffee. Mr. Ballard and the photographer were the only ones who ate nothing. TheFlyerwas now at an altitude of 31,000 feet and Captain Napier took his coffee standing with his eyes on the compressed air gauge. A few pounds too much pressure and all felt the extra supply by the pains in their chests and heads. The thermometer had now dropped to two degrees above zero.

When the chronometer showed twelve thirty o’clock, Roy prepared to make a new calculation. He climbed down the ladder for a cup of tea to quicken his brain. Bob alone was awake. But he sat gazing stolidly at the engine and did not even notice Roy’s entrance. The London reporter and Buck sat crouched together and sound asleep. With a supply of tea for Alan and Ned, Roy returned to his desk. Wearily getting the time again—and the thirty-four hours in which he had been doing this constantly, seemed a week—he read his aerometer, calculated the wind pressure charts and then, to his last figures, added the advance.

“Captain,” he said at last, “we’re only a little over three hundred miles from New York.”

For a moment this seemed to have no special significance. Then Ned aroused himself.

“It’s only two hundred and five miles from New York to Ipswich. Are we goin’ to make it?”

“It’s twelve thirty o’clock now,” was Roy’s answer. “Our calculated position is three hundred and nine miles out.”

“And what can we do that in?”

Rousing himself again, Roy figured a few moments.

“One hour, thirty-four minutes and forty-eight seconds,” he reported.

“That’s nearly five minutes after two, isn’t it? Well, it’s close enough.”

“Hadn’t we better come down?” asked Alan as he tried to warm his left hand under his arm. Ned looked at the barograph. It marked 29,640 feet.

“To one thousand feet,” he responded.

“Watch your gauge and pressure,” suggested Alan and, as he depressed theFlyer’sbow, Ned recharged the ship with compressed, polar air. Gradually the airship sped toward the earth. In two minutes the crisply glittering stars winked out and theFlyerwas in an opaque mist. In two minutes more a patter on the frost covered windows alarmed the boys. Then Roy arose and unlocked the port door. A gust of rain swept into the room. At the same moment the cabin lights paled and then a fog filled the compartment. The boys lost sight of each other and of the instruments near them.

“We’re in a fog bank!” exclaimed Roy.

“It’s our own,” shouted Ned. “We’re near the ground and it’s June. The car was filled with zero atmosphere. It’s condensing.”

“Everything’s covered with water,” added Alan.

Ned groped about and threw open all ports and doors. The fog cleared almost as quickly as it came. In four minutes the thermometer jumped from 2° above zero to 65°. As the comparatively hot wave rolled into the car Alan dropped lower, looking for lights or landmarks. The quick drop again interfered with Roy’s figures but at 12.45 o’clock Alan relieved all doubt.

“Two fixed white lights,” he shouted. “Looks like Thatcher’s Island lighthouse. Hold the wheel while I peel these togs.”

At the same moment the door of the adjoining state room opened and Mr. Arthur Ballard, encased in sweaters and a fur coat, exclaimed:

“The roof is leakin’. I’m soaked through.” The thermometer was now 78°. “Where are we?”

“Ipswich, Massachusetts,” exclaimed Roy. “Change cars for Boston.”

Tossing his polar garments to the floor Roy made this entry in his log:

“June 23; 12, 59´ 11´´ A. M. Thatcher’s Island light abeam to starboard. Between 12.30 and 12.40 A. M. descended from 29,640 feet altitude to 700 feet. Temperature rose from 2° above zero to 78°. Rain falling and weather sultry. Ipswich, Mass., lights ahead. Course for New York, Battery, S. 79° 30´ E. (E. by S.) Last leg 210miles. Low level speed 180 miles an hour. Probable time of end of journey 1, 10´ plus 12, 59´ 11´´ or 2, 9´ 11´´ A. M. Mr. Napier at wheel again.”

With a word to Ned and a nod in reply, Alan hastened below. Those in the engine room were yet swathed in extra clothing and calling for explanations. Seizing Bob, Alan announced the situation—to the relief of all—and then instructed Russell to attempt to get in touch by wireless with theHerald. The store room was soon aglow from the flashes of the snapping condenser. In fifteen minutes Bob’s call was answered. Then, with short interruptions, this message was forwarded:

“Ocean Flyerwest of Ipswich one o’clock on time all well Ballard Clarke Russell stories ready pictures O K best time two hundred five two-tenths miles hour highest altitude thirty-one thousand feet coldest weather two degrees above zero reach office few minutes after two congratulationsHeraldenterprise answer.”

Within a few minutes came this message in reply:

“Congratulations unparalleled success presses waiting, estimate exact time arrival if possible.Herald.”

“Two ten,” flashed the answer.

Then, a little later, followed this wireless to theHeraldoperator:

“Forward Chicago Mary Hope Beverly Hills. In America again safe and well. Alan and Ned.”

But the wireless figures were not exactly correct. Picking out lights, the detour to find South Norwalk, a slow-down in the Sound as the bridges were approached and then the rise as theFlyerheaded over the sleeping metropolis to trace its way north by the winking lights of Broadway, threw Roy out in his calculations. When the green lights marking the signal diamond on theHeraldroof flashed out no one on board noted the hour. Checking and sinking between the buildings on either side, theFlyerfloated overHeraldsquare. As a bag dropped on theHeraldroof with a crash the manager of that newspaper glanced at his watch. It was twelve minutes after two o’clock.

At the moment Ned whirled the wing wheel for a new lift a loud voiced boy dashed from the rear of theHerald building.

“Here y’ar; extry papia; all ’bout big airplane crossin’ ’Lantic ocean; papia, double extryHurld!”

On the first page of the damp sheets under the boy’s arm—and the first loaded wagon of extras was now rattling down Broadway—was the story Buck and Bob had written three days before. In display type above this was printed this bulletin:

“The first aeroplane to cross the Atlantic Ocean reached theHeraldoffice at ten minutes after two o’clock this morning. It left London at one minute after two o’clock yesterday afternoon. Distance traveled 3,218.1 miles. Time, twelve hours and eight minutes. Highest speed, 205.2 miles an hour. Greatest altitude, 31,000 feet. Lowest temperature, 2° above zero. The monster triple-planedOcean Flyer, with a daring crew of five men, has conquered the air at last. Under the auspices of theHeraldandTelegram, Captain Ned Napier and his associate Alan Hope, left New York Wednesday, June 21, at one o’clock, twenty-one minutes and twenty-two seconds in the afternoon. Their monster aeroplane successfully crossed the Atlantic—traversing Massachusetts, the Gulf of Maine, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, 1,709 miles of trackless water, Ireland, the Irish Sea—and delivered the plates of theTelegram’sspecial coronation edition safely to theHeraldrepresentatives in Hyde Park, London, at twenty-five minutes after one o’clock the next day. The story of the preparations for these marvelous feats, with a full description of theOcean Flyer, its unique ideas and a detailed account of its now celebrated crew, appears below.”

Then followed a full page of the matter that Bob and Buck had written and a graphic story, written by night city editor Latimer, of how theHeralddiscovered theOcean Flyer, of the “beat” that was not printed and a full account of Ned Napier and Alan Hope, the “Airship Boys.”

When theOcean Flyerreached the yards of the aeroplane factory in Newark fifteen minutes later and came to a final stop, there was no more demonstration than might have followed a half hour’s flight out over the marshes. President Atkinson was awaiting his friends. As he took Ned’s hand he handed him a telephone message just received. It read:

“Heartiest congratulations to Captain Ned Napier and his associates on accomplishing the greatest feat of the age; an airship journey from London to New York in twelve hours. Consider contract carried out. EditorHerald.”

This is the sixth story in the AIRSHIP BOYS Series. The seventh is entitled THE AIRSHIP BOYS AS DETECTIVES Or, Secret Service in Cloudland. This worthy successor of the OCEAN FLYER deals with the fascinating task of guarding both frontiers of the United States, bringing into play the most modern and effective means—the airship. Accurate information—exciting situations—rapid action—thrilling adventures—make this story one every boy will want to read.

For other titles in this Series see Page 2.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Punctuation has been standardized. Minor spelling and typographic errors have been corrected silently except as noted below. Hyphenated words have been retained as they appear in the original text, except as noted below.

The inconsistent spelling of "employe" (versus "employee") has been left as is.

The inconsistent capitalization of "Fleet street" versus "Fleet Street" has been left as is.

The inconsistent usage of "air craft" versus "aircraft" has been left as is.

In several places throughout the book, inconsistent usage of the degree symbol (°) has been left as is.

On page 31, "shiplike" changed to "ship-like" to be consistent with other usage in the book.

On page 31, "inclosed" changed to "enclosed" to be consistent with other usage in the book.

On page 67, "day-time" changed to "daytime" to be consistent with other usage in the book and with contemporary usage of the time period.

On page 129, "trans-atlantic" changed to "transatlantic" to be consistent with other usage in the book and with contemporary usage of the time period.

On page 186, "sustention" changed to "suspension" in "...the spring hooks released the sustention cable...". While "sustention" was used in that time period (and is still), it has a somewhat different meaning that what is implied in the sentence.

On page 201, "skysickness" changed to "sky sickness" to be consistent with other usage in the book.

On page 268, "Fogo Island and one fifty-one A. M." has been left as is, although the stated time calculation should yield "one fifty-nine A. M.".

On page 269, the chapter number has been changed from "IX" to "XIX".

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