As Don crawled forward to take his place behind the shielded shoulder of the machine gun, Fred stripped himself of the wireless paraphernalia to become mechanician while Jack and Andy gave all their time to the engines and the maneuvering. At the same time they climbed higher, maintaining the advantage which always is with the upper plane in aerial battle.
"Get ready, Don," Jack shouted, as the big machine swerved about and banked steeply for a sudden dive at the machine below.
Before the crew of the latter could even guess what was going to happen, much less get into position for firing their own gun, mounted forward, Don opened up with a hail of bullets which cut the lower left wing of the enemy machine in a dozen places and made her all the more difficult to maneuver or manage.
A skilled pilot was in charge of her,however, and even with this damage the giant plane wheeled gracefully, circling for an advantage which Jack and Andy refused to give. Up, up, up they went, cutting, crossing, swerving, always seeking for position.
And then like a flash Jack gave the order and they turned on the enemy. Again Don let go a fusillade that sounded like the rapid rat-a-tat of a great drum. It was another bull's eye, and one of the bullets apparently took the pilot in the right arm, for Fred, looking over, saw it drop limp at his side, while he frantically grasped at levers with his left hand, and said something sharply to another member of his crew.
The enemy, too, was firing his machine gun at every opportunity, but thus far the maneuvering of the American plane had been too sudden and swift to permit of anything like an aim, and the nearest shower of bullets went harmlessly by, several yards to the right.
Again Jack gave his engines all the petrol they would take, and there was another skyward spurt at hair-raising speed. No one direction was maintained for a full minute at a time, however, and even at that the enemy finally got a head-on opportunity and sent a charge that lodged several bullets in the outerfusilage. There was an instant change of course, and a few seconds later Don was given another opportunity to show what he knew about machine gun firing. He gave a most excellent accounting.
The rudder of the enemy plane was almost entirely shot away!
A skilful pilot may not necessarily regard that as a disaster, but already the pilot of the other machine was disabled, and the battle was raging so furiously that no opportunity offered for another of the crew to take his place.
With only one able hand and arm to work with the fellow did remarkably well, but he could not handle the giant plane successfully under such a handicap.
Even then, and in that desperate situation, Jack and his crew would have let up in mercy had not the enemy, in a long, circling dive again renewed the fire.
Jack nodded his head to Andy, and Fred, understanding the signal, got ready to do his part. They banked at a dangerous, nerve-racking angle, and then in a long, sweeping curve came down upon the already crippled machine which could not get out of the way.
Don loosened such a miniature artillerythat two of the crew fell over either mortally wounded or killed outright. The firing never ceased, nor was the course of the plane changed until it was within fifty yards of the other machine and it seemed that a fatal collision was imminent.
The final volley tore both wings of the other plane so badly that she wavered, washed in the wind for a few seconds and then, as a spurt of flame appeared where fire had started from a leaking petrol tank, she settled into a swift and disastrous nose dive.
Don saw what happened; the others had too much to do in righting their own plane at that instant to pay attention to anything else. Jack and Andy had come literally as near as a hair losing control of their own plane in making the final attack which disposed of the other. As a matter of fact, had they not been such masters of their machine, all might have gone to the fate that the others found as the reward for their treacherous undertaking.
"What happened?" Jack asked of Don, when the machine again was under control. He had not realized that they had completely put the other machine out of business, and seemed somewhat surprised when, on lookingabout, he did not find it in pursuit, or dashing away on the defensive.
"It's all over," Don assured them. "You can take it easy now."
They did. They looked over the side of their own machine and saw what remained of a crushed and broken fusilage—just bits of wood and some strips of canvas—floating on the surface of the sea.
"They fell straight as an arrow, but in a tail dive, after that final attack," Don said. "It was really sickening to see them fall. It must have been four thousand feet at the least."
"Afire?" Jack asked.
"Yes, but completely out of business before the flames broke out," Don continued. "The pilot got a bullet in the right arm early in the mix-up, and I guess two of the others never knew what happened to them. When they struck it was with a splash like that sent up by a depth bomb. As a matter of fact, I didn't think anything connected with the machine would ever come to the surface again."
"Guess we'd better circle down and see if by chance any one of them should be alive and in sight," Jack suggested.
He changed course and they began a circling downward descent. Some fifty yards away from the floating débris they made a landing. The sea was comparatively calm and they experienced little difficulty in settling on its surface without jolt, splash or damage. For several moments they lay there, looking intently at what remained of that which once had been Braizewell's powerful twin-motor biplane. There was not a sign of human life, not an evidence of anything indicating it.
"Don," said Jack, "for the purposes of a full report on this incident you had better note as exactly as possible the time and place where it occurred."
"Yes," Don responded, "I had thought of that, and I've already got my reckonings. It's merely a matter of recording them, which I'll do at once."
"Too bad for them," Jack said, with genuine sorrow in his voice. "But it was they or we. There was nothing else to it. They forced the issue and we had no alternative. I wonder who they were."
"I saw them all, at one time or another during the firing," Don then informed his companions. "But there was only one I thought I might have seen somewhere before.But when it was, or where, I'm at a loss to tell. As a matter of fact, I'm not at all certain that I ever saw him. But somehow his face seemed familiar."
"Well, we'd better be on our way," said Jack. "No use in staying around here. Those fellows probably went down so far that, even if they're not entangled in the wreckage, it's doubtful whether they ever would come up again."
"I've got it!" ejaculated Don abruptly.
"Keep it then," advised Andy, good-naturedly, despite the latest excitement they had been through.
"I've got it! That's it, surely," Don repeated again, gazing out abstractedly, as one will when absorbed in some recollection.
"Got what?" demanded Fred, impatiently. "Better get rid of it if you have, don't you think?"
"Eh?" Don looked at him blankly. "Oh, yes. Say! Do you know who that fellow was that I thought I recognized in that plane?"
"No, who?" asked Jack, keenly interested.
"Remember the day I came limping back with a badly crippled plane, after having been over the German lines, and was just able to make a descent within our own?"
"Sure!" they exclaimed, all at once.
"That was the fellow I had the battle with. I'm sure of it. I knew I'd seen him before, and that's when it was."
"Well, he's probably battling with Davy Jones now," said Andy soothingly. "You've had your revenge, and he'll never fight another air duel on this earth."
"Fred," said Jack, several hours later, when the afternoon was waning, "I think you'll have to get busy."
"Meaning what?" asked Fred. Apparently they were going along at top speed and without cause for further concern. Nevertheless there was a worried look on Jack's face, and this was something unusual.
"Busy with your own suggestion of some time back," Jack responded.
Andy, who had been listening to this conversation, let his eye wander to the instrument board, and he gave vent to a low whistle. "Right!" he said.
"Don't get you yet," Fred repeated, bewildered.
"We're going to run out of fuel before we reach the other side," Jack announced. "You'd better open up with the radio and see if we can reach a vessel that will replenish our supply."
"How do we stand?" asked Don anxiously.
"Oh, we've got enough for the immediate present, but not sufficient to carry us all the way," Jack answered, and Andy nodded his head in affirmation of the statement.
Fred, who had not put on the headpiece of the wireless since the battle with the other plane, now adjusted the earpieces, pushed forward the switch, and opened up with that call which almost unfailingly will bring a response from any other radio within receiving distance of the message—S O S.
Time and again he repeated it, but without getting an indication of a response.
"Don," said Jack at last, "you've got the charts there. How do we stand with regard to the regular steamer route?"
"We're miles off it just now," the navigator responded. "Too far to the north."
"Suppose we changed our course?"
"Well, if you'd point her west by south for half an hour or so I think we'd at least come within radio distance of something," Don said, after a moment of thought.
"That's what we'll do then," the chief pilot announced, and immediately fitted the action to the word.
In this altered course they continued formore than a quarter of an hour, with Fred still sounding out the distress call of the International code.
"Hear anything?" Jack finally queried, eyeing the petrol indicator.
"Nary a sound."
Don consulted his charts and reckonings again and advised two points further south. Jack immediately brought the plane around to that suggested course, and in ten more minutes the mathematics and judgment of Don Harlan were vindicated.
Fred's face suddenly beamed, and unconsciously he slapped his knee.
"Got anybody?" Andy asked.
"Yep, getting a reply."
For a few moments all remained silent, unable to do more than watch Fred as he alternately listened and then tapped off mysterious dots and dashes on the radio. Finally he relieved the tension. He removed the earpieces for a moment to address himself to Don.
"What's T-K-R?" he asked.
"Why, tanker," Don answered immediately.
Fred cast his eye at the chart, stepped over to regard it more carefully, then turned his gaze to a penciled memorandum he had made.Without another word he again adjusted the earpieces, took hold of the sending key and began a veritable chatter with the mysterious and unseen tanker which he had picked up somewhere on the wide expanse of the Atlantic.
"Righto!" he ejaculated finally, aloud, again removing the apparatus. "Jack," he said, addressing himself to that rather worried individual, "I wasn't such a bad guesser this morning, after all, was I? Well, I've landed the tanker, all right, and according to Don's reckonings and her information our paths cross."
"Great!"
"But she can't spare much petrol."
"Well, you—" Andy got no further.
"Probably fifty gallons," Fred finished.
Jack did some quick mental calculating. "Fifty's better than none, and probably will carry us through," he finally announced. "At any rate, we'll be thankful for whatever she can spare us. Did you tell her we're in an aeroplane?"
"Yes," Fred answered, chuckling. "That's what all the conversation was about. The operator evidently had the captain alongside of him, and he must be a good sportsman himself. Thought it was the realTransatlantic contest, and of course I didn't disillusion them. But I had a hard time at first making them believe that we were in a plane. The operator bluntly told me to quit my kidding. Wanted to know what I meant by making a josh out of the S O S."
"When ought we to come across them?" was Jack's next inquiry.
For a moment Fred and Don figured together, then examined the compass and drew several lines upon the chart.
"Keep your present course," Don finally said, "and at our speed, with the tanker fifty miles away when Fred first got her, and she headed this way, we ought to sight each other in the next twenty minutes."
Again he was right. Hardly that time had elapsed when Fred, with the powerful marine glasses as an aid, shouted out that he could discern a streak of smoke.
Don took the glasses, and before he brought them down from his eyes the two-miles-a-minute speed of the plane had brought the vessel into sight.
"Gosh!" Jack breathed, with a long-drawn sigh. "She's the most welcome thing I've seen in a month of Sundays."
From an altitude of six thousand feet theybegan a slow descent, but without a decrease of speed. With the aid of the glasses Don could now discern some one, doubtless the captain of the tanker, on the bridge, gazing toward them intently.
The distance between them had now been reduced to not more than three miles, and the throttles were closed and all power shut off for the long downward glide which would bring them close to the vessel.
So straight was their course that as they neared they caused a small panic on the tanker. Captain and crew suddenly came to the disconcerting conviction that the plane had gotten beyond control and was going to crash upon them. There was a great scurrying about, and, unexpected by Jack and Andy, the ship suddenly veered in her course, almost bringing about that which her captain was trying to avoid.
As a result, Jack had to put the rudder down hard, throw on the power, and take an upward course which would clear them of the zigzagging steamer. In a wide circle the plane then was brought to the surface, so close to the ship that the respective officers and crews could converse without the use of megaphones.
In a Wide Circle the Plane was Brought to the Surface
In a Wide Circle the Plane was Brought to the Surface.
"Who are you?" the captain of the tanker demanded, when he had recovered from mixed feelings of fear and admiration, brought on first by the narrow escape from a collision, and then by the expert surface landing which the hydro-aeroplane made.
"Americans entrants in the Transatlantic," Jack responded instantly. "Guess we're in the lead. Haven't sighted any of the others, have you?"
"I should say not," the captain replied, "and I wouldn't have believed my eyes if I had seen one headed this way, if it hadn't been we got your wireless first. Say! You fellows have got some nerve, all right. Any accidents?"
"Oh, had to stop a couple of times for minor repairs," Jack answered modestly. "And we got into the teeth of a hurricane that drove us back two or three hundred miles. That's the reason we're short of fuel. Can you spare any?"
"What are you using?"
"Petrol."
"H'm! Well, we've got some pretty good class gas aboard, but we'll need most of it ourselves. Your trip is most over, and you might say ours has hardly begun."
"Pay you well for it," Jack suggested.
"Say," the captain came back at him instantly. "You can't pay me a cent. I can spare you about fifty gallons, as I said in the wireless, and that's all I can cut out of my own supply. If that will help, you're welcome to it."
"It certainly will help, but it won't get us to Ireland," Jack responded evenly.
"Well, what in the deuce are you going to do?"
"That's just the problem," Big Jack answered, "and it's a tough one, too."
"Oh, dam it all, I'll give you a hundred and depend on making port on what I've got left," the captain of the tanker finally announced. "How are you going to load it?"
"Got a pump and hose?"
"Sure."
"Then we'll pull up right alongside and take it into the tank that way."
Jack started the propellers whirling slowly, just enough to carry the plane around and toward the side of the tanker. The captain watched this work with open-mouthed admiration.
"Say!" he ejaculated, at the same time squirting forth a great stream of tobacco juice. "Ever been a sailor?"
"No, never have," Jack had to admit.
"Well, you handle that job as if you had," the captain informed him. "First rate job, that."
"Thanks," Jack returned, at the same time grabbing at the end of hose that was tossed over to him. "And let me say this, sir," he added, as he fitted the rubber pipe line into the petrol tank, "if there's ever any way any of us can serve you, just you call on us, and don't be modest about it."
He took a note book from his pocket, wrote down their four names and the general address at which they could be reached, and, rolling it into a ball, tossed it aboard the vessel. "There's our visiting card," he said.
In the ten minutes it required to take aboard the hundred gallons of sorely needed additional fuel, the captain of the tanker proved himself all that Fred had predicted of him. And as they waved their final farewells and the plane took to the air, all felt a pang of genuine regret that the circumstances made it necessary for them to withhold the essential facts as to their actual mission.
The darkness of night was again upon them, for although they had now been gone from Halifax a matter of some twenty-seven or eight hours, the reader will keep in mind that they were, so to speak, traveling ever eastward, and therefore toward constantly changing time conditions.
It was well into this second night, when they were rather feeling their way, and at materially reduced speed, and their calculations put them at between four and five hundred miles off the Irish coast, when all of them, now desperately feeling the need of sleep, were aroused by Fred's announcement that they were again receiving a call, this time no doubt genuine.
"It is being relayed by some vessel," he said, "and is in our code."
He picked up the ever-ready pad and pencil and listened intently.
Finally he began to write. Three wordswere jotted down, when he reached for the switch and took the sending key, interrupting the operator on the vessel. There was a lengthy sending and receiving back and forth, and then Fred began writing again. He added two more words and there was another interruption.
"Somebody breaking in," he informed Don, who was leaning eagerly over his shoulder, the code book already in his hand, the first steps taken toward translating the message.
But before Don could get further with that interesting work a word from Jack put him back to the duties of navigator, and he had to give detailed information concerning wind retardment, speed, course, etc.
Fred by now was receiving again, and apparently had succeeded in silencing whoever it was who had been interrupting with impertinent queries about the apparently bad grammar of the message.
Don again took up his position behind Fred, the code book handy.
The first word on Fred's sheet was "How." This Don knew from memory was the code word for "Give," so he jotted that down. The next was "paper." He looked this up and added "location."
Fred had now concluded talking with the relaying vessel and was able to aid him by reading from his own memo. "Invent," he called out. The code book revealed the translation as "situation."
Next came "burst," and both smiled at the very logical reason that an outsider had for inquiring what it was all about. Don found it in the "b's" and wrote down "critical."
No doubt about the authenticity of the message now: "Give location—situation critical—"
"Ship," Fred gave the next word.
Twice Don missed the right page in his nervous thumbing of the book, but finally he got it, and found opposite, "when."
The next word was "settled"; and here again in the strange code was a combination to make a seafaring man think something serious had happened. In the code, however, it stood for "will." And the next word, "bring," was found to mean "you."
"Last one," said Fred, encouragingly, "'bounty.'"
At last Don found it and wrote it down—"arrive."
Here, then, was the message complete: "R-S-7: Give location—situation critical—when will you arrive?"
It was read off to Jack and Andy. The former turned it over in his mind for a moment. "Who signed it?" he asked—the inevitable query.
"P.S.Q.J." answered Fred, reserving his greatest surprise for the last.
There was a sudden lifting of brows, the men gazing about at each other and for the moment even forgetting the course of their flight. The message was a direct inquiry on behalf of the President of the United States, then attending the Peace Conference!
"What about it, Don?" Jack asked.
"Well," the navigator replied, making mental calculations and regarding his charts, "we ought to make Ireland in six hours."
"Send that, then," Jack told Fred, "and ask if there are any instructions. But send it in code," he added.
Fred jotted down, "Ireland probably in six hours," laboriously found the code equivalent of each word and wrote it over the top, and then opened up his call again.
The vessel operator soon responded and wanted to know if he couldn't be let in on the secret.
"Picked this up and relayed it," he radiographed, "but where's it come from, and who are you?"
"Let you know later, and obliged for your trouble," Fred wirelessed back. "Tell me who you are and you'll get suitable reward."
With lightning-like speed the distant operator gave his name, ship and home port.
"Right," Fred flashed back. "Now please relay this."
And he gave the code reply and had it repeated to make certain there was no error in the taking of the odd mixture of words.
"New code on me," the taking operator finally commented, when his repeat had been approved as correct. "Whose is it?"
"Your Uncle Samuel's," Fred radioed back, and opened his switch against further inquiries.
"Well, I guess the situation's clear enough," he said, getting up to stretch himself as best he could in their small quarters. Try as he would, he could not repress a yawn.
"If the President of the United States goes to those lengths to try to learn when we will get on European soil, I guess it's a mighty important mission we've been called on to handle," Andy opined.
"Yes," added Jack, "and from what I can make of that message, it's becoming a question of hours as to how the situation will turn."
"That seems to state it," Don agreed. "A matter of hours."
"Well, we've done our best, and against mighty unpleasant obstacles, but of course they won't figure very largely if, after all, we're too late."
"We're heading for Ireland about as fast as anything ever did," Jack informed them, and it required but a glance at the air-speed indicator to prove this. For there was scarcely a perceptible adverse wind, as these experienced aviators could discern by opening up part of the enclosed nacelle, and the indicator registered just a fraction above one hundred and twenty-two miles an hour.
"Coming, Mr. President," Andy muttered. "Coming, sir, like greased lightning."
If Don Harlan was in all normal times, and under all natural conditions, a most excellent and trustworthy aerial navigator, as in fact all the other members of this crew knew from experience that he was, so also was he human, and, therefore, subject to human errors. Certainly in the present situation this was not to be unexpected, for he and the others not only had undergone a most extraordinary series of the most harrowing experiences, in rapid-fire succession, but in addition they were nerve-tired and physically fagged for the want of sleep.
They did not reach or even sight Ireland within the predicted six hours, but long before that time they did something which, in view of subsequent events and the demands they put upon the men for every ounce of their courage and ingenuity, proved to be a most excellent thing.
It was Jack's suggestion—or rather, his orders.
"Fred and Don," he had said, immediately after the sending of the wireless, to be relayed to the President, "it's plain sailing now and we won't need either one of you. Both of you curl up somewhere out of the way and take three hours sleep. At the end of that time we'll call you, you two can take charge for the next three hours while Andy and I snooze, and we'll all feel better and more capable for the rest."
None knew at that time how valuable that recuperation, brief as it was, would prove to be.
Under the circumstances and the program which called for an equal division between the four of them of the rest period, it hadn't taken Fred and Don more than two minutes to follow the advice. For three hours they lay like logs, stretched out side by side on the floor of the nacelle, snoring so lustily as to seem to be in competition with the steady throbbing of the engines.
True to promise, at the end of that time Jack awakened them, and, when they had recovered their dulled wits, they took charge while Jack and Andy almost instantly dropped into a heavy sleep.
Another three hours and they were broughtback to life, but still there was no sight of land.
Jack got out the binoculars, as soon as he had gotten the "sand" out of his eyes, for what he termed a "squint" before again taking his place in the pilot's seat.
Just as, hours before, their forward rush had brought the night to them, so now their speed was irresistibly drawing the dawn toward them. Jack held the glasses to his eyes for a moment, then rubbed his eyes vigorously and looked again.
Of a sudden he gave a great whoop, and slapped Don on the back with a force that nearly sent him off his feet.
"Land, gol darn you," Jack shouted for the benefit of all. "Land ahoy, as they say aboard ship!"
"What's that?" demanded Andy, regarding it as news too good to be true. "Let me have a peep through those binoculars. You may be seeing things."
"I am," Jack admitted joyously, handing over the glasses. "I'm seeing Ireland, or my name's not Jack Carew."
"Sure as you live," agreed Andy, beaming on the others.
"Well, none too soon," Don interrupted,turning a serious face upon them. "I didn't want to hurry you fellows out of your sleep, seeing that you gave us three hours, but I want to tell you that even now we're pretty nearly up against it. Look at that!"
He pointed at the petrol gauge. It registered only enough, at their average rate of consumption, to carry them two-thirds of the estimated distance to where the welcome shores of Ireland hove dimly into sight in the distance.
"Climb out!" Jack ordered peremptorily. "You too," indicating Fred.
He climbed into his own seat, and motioned Andy into the other.
Without another word they began a long climb, the pounding of the engines indicating the extra pressure they were called upon to meet, the tilt of the plane indicating a sustained angle that was taking them onward but up, up, up.
Don stood directly behind Big Jack, his eye fastened upon the altimeter on the instrument board. Slowly, surely, unwaveringly, it was being pushed around the dial. It registered eight thousand feet, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
He turned a questioning glance at Fred,who was likewise engaged, but not a word was spoken.
Their glance turned to the petrol gauge, which Big Jack and Andy were watching as closely as they were the indications of their steadily increasing altitude. It showed an equally steady depletion as the engines literally ate up the now almost priceless fuel.
Don, his attention now turned to this instrument, saw it going down, down, down, even as the plane continued on its upward climb. Even yet the real significance of Jack's intention had not fully dawned upon him.
The fuel was by now dangerously low. Once Don thought he heard one of the engines "skip," and his heart skipped a beat in consequence. He looked again at the altimeter. Fifteen thousand feet! And still the plane was climbing, its angle unaltered.
He grabbed the binoculars and gazed out toward the coast, now scarcely any nearer the plane by actual distance, but much nearer from a plumb line which might have been dropped from the plane. He estimated that they were as yet about fifteen miles out to sea.
And still the machine climbed. He turnedagain to the altimeter, fascinated by this great contest between the wits of man and the natural elements.
Eighteen thousand feet, and the needle, still continuing its circle of the dial, registered nineteen thousand before he could tear his glance away.
Bang! Sput, sput! Bang!
One of the engines was missing audibly. The petrol indicator now registered almost nothing. The altimeter needle was just flirting with the point marking twenty thousand feet.
Jack for the first time took his eyes from a straightaway upward course and gazed about him—principally outward and downward toward the Irish coast.
The petrol gauge registered nothing noticeable and both engines were firing now at interrupted intervals only, and the propellers were spinning in jerky uneven response to the queer spurts of power shot to them from the well-nigh exhausted engines.
Jack grabbed the petrol pump, and with a few sudden lusty jerks sent the remaining dregs of fuel into the engines. They responded nobly with what little ammunition they got, and with this power the plane gavea loop, like a scenic railway car taking a hump, and what had been the upward angle was reversed.
The ingenious purpose was now apparent. The throttles were closed because there was no longer any use in keeping them open. Jack was trying the only course that had been left open to them. He had mounted to the greatest possible height with what little fuel they had left, while still continuing their eastward direction.
They were now on a great ten-mile downward glide which was their only hope of reaching somewhere near the coast line. How successful they were in this depended now upon the skill with which the captain-pilot used the plane's momentum.
Although with no propelling power whatever, they rapidly gathered a terrific speed. When this had reached a point where it threatened to tear the wings or rudder loose, Jack lifted her to an almost horizontal course, and the plane sailed along for more than a mile before it became necessary to again turn her nose down to gather increased momentum. When this was had the same process was repeated.
How good a pilot Jack was, this situationwould develop. They had come perhaps five miles nearer the shore line now, and they were still some twelve or thirteen thousand feet in the air. A swift glance at the altimeter and barometer assuring him of this fact, and Jack permitted himself a smile which gave heart and renewed courage to each of the other three.
"We'll make it easy if nothing gives way," he said.
Again they were gathering a speed even more terrible than that which had marked the first stage of their descent. When the plane was "brought to" again, it sailed landward for nearly two miles.
They were now only eight thousand feet up, and the distance to shore was probably three or three and a half miles. Jack decided to give them a little sensation. He pointed the nose of the craft directly at where the waves broke into little rollers on the shore, and let her go.
Don, sticking his head out of a window of the nacelle for an instant, thought that the top of his anatomy had been lifted off. Involuntarily he put his hand up to see if his scalp was still there.
Down, down, down they rushed, and still no alteration in their course.
They were about a thousand yards from the shore line, and approximately the same distance above the water, when Jack altered course, came to an almost horizontal position, executed a long arc and then, with the decreased speed, gradually dropped and at the same time swerved gently shoreward. Three minutes later, and without a propeller turning, without any aid whatever toward bringing them to a stop or impelling them forward, they came to the surface and to a standstill in a shoal-protected section of comparatively still water, two hundred feet from shore.
"Greatest piece of work I ever saw," exclaimed Don enthusiastically, grasping Jack's hand.
"The principal thing is that we did it, and here we are on European soil," said Jack, as, having already sounded the depth with a rope and sinker, and finding it less than three feet, he stepped overboard to wade ashore.
The others followed. From the solid ground of Ireland they looked back on the brave craft which had brought them there. A murmur of thanksgiving welled from each heart.
"We'll get a caretaker, and then be off on the last leg of our journey," Jack announced, as they trudged off up the incline toward where they believed they would find friendly welcome and perhaps a hot breakfast.
The four lads had not progressed more than a couple of hundred yards, however, when suddenly and without warning, apparently out of nowhere, there developed one of those sporadic but furious wind storms which in reality are miniature hurricanes, though seldom doing any real damage.
It started with what seemed to be but a slight puff of wind, which went zephyring merrily on its innocent way. But this was only the forerunner, the vanguard, so to speak, of something more substantial to follow—as the four young men speedily learned.
Over the crest of the hill ahead of them appeared what at first seemed to be nothing more than a heavy mist. As a matter of fact, for several seconds it failed to attract any attention. Then Big Jack, regarding it rather curiously, called the attention of the others to it.
It was approaching with increasing speed,and as it came nearer it was apparent that it was a vast twisting, swirling cloud of dust and dirt that was being carried along in the teeth of a strong wind. It seemed to be gathering momentum every foot of the way.
When it was within a few feet of them the lads followed a natural instinct and bent their heads to avoid the full blast of the pelting sand and dirt.
It enveloped them like a typical desert storm and lasted longer than any of them had expected it would. Even when it was over they were not able to immediately resume their way.
Big Jack and Don were for the moment out of commission, both having been temporarily blinded by the particles of dirt that got into their eyes; while Fred was making frantic efforts toward what seemed an attempt to stand on his head, though in reality he was trying to shake out of his shirt a great quantity of sand that had sifted down there. Andy was running around in circles, vainly peering into the air in search of his hat.
In a wild lurch for it, just as it took another upward swerve, he collided with Fred, sending that youth sprawling face downward over the ground.
Jack and Don both recovered their vision just in time to witness this unscheduled event, and to see Andy's hat come down fifty feet up the hill—another freak of such a storm—instead of somewhere down near the sea, where it might have been expected to land.
"I don't see anything funny in that," Fred complained, as he and the other two came up to where Andy, having recovered his top-piece, was awaiting them.
"In what?" Andy asked, seeing that Fred was addressing him.
"Why, in kicking a fellow when he's not looking—the way you just did to me."
"I didn't kick you, old acrobat," Andy explained good-naturedly. "You just got in the way, and believe me, I was going so I couldn't stop."
"Humph! Better look where you're headin' next time," Fred warned.
"Well, so near as I could make out, you were headin' toward China," Andy answered soothingly. "What was it you were looking for?"
But before Fred could make an answer it became apparent that they were in for another siege like the first.
Another gust of wind, equally sand-laden,appeared over the brow of the hill. This time the four lads turned their backs to the approaching gale. As they did so, and just before it enveloped them, they saw the first cloud pass out to sea. So, also, did something else.
Big Jack was perhaps the first to see it, though each caught just a fleeting glimpse before the second miniature hurricane wrapped itself about them.
All started as though by instinct back toward the shore. But they could not see a thing for several seconds, until the cloud of dust, traveling even faster than they were, got ahead of them and lifted upward over the water.
What they saw then was disconcerting, startling.
The big hydro-plane which had brought them from America to Europe, and which, in their happiness and enthusiasm at having safely arrived on European soil, they had utterly forgotten to anchor, evidently thinking that like the old farm house it would "stand without hitching", was in the full teeth of the wind, headed back toward the land of its birth!
The involuntary exclamation that escapedBig Jack as a burst of speed put him in the lead of the others, was like the cry of a savage chief, rallying his followers for the hunt. And it had just that effect upon the others.
Nothing else counted just now but getting back that sea-wandering plane. It was not a calculated or reasoned or thought-out proceeding, but a blind rushing after something that had gotten away—as, for instance, one will risk all sorts of dangers in unthinkingly rushing into the street and amidst traffic after a hat that has blown away.
As Big Jack reached the edge of the water, only a few feet ahead of the other three, he did not even diminish his speed, but with a great splash waded in, followed by the others.
In a few seconds all were beyond wading depth and swimming vigorously.
But, excellent swimmers though all of them were, it was a risky and even foolhardy adventure at best; for they were fully clothed, and there was no telling how far the plane might be carried before the wind rose sufficiently above the surface to release it from its grip.
For ten minutes they swam gallantly, and then it became apparent that the direction of the wind had swerved and was following a line almost parallel with the shore.
In a scattered line, Big Jack now well in the lead, Andy next, then, some distance behind, Fred and Don, close together, they continued with all their strength for another quarter of an hour.
It was probably a glance shoreward, which gave him his first inkling of how far out to sea they had gone, that gave Jack Carew the courage to put all his remaining strength into a final spurt. He realized that he was pretty far spent himself, and the slowing up of the others indicated that the awful gruelling was having its effect on them the same way.
The wind had died down and here was the chance of reaching the wayward plane. Big Jack never strove harder than he did then. When he was almost in reach of the hydro he heard a muffled cry behind him. It was Andy, almost exhausted.
He measured the distance. He saw Fred and Don come up with Andy and grasp the exhausted swimmer, one on either side.
"They'll be all right for a minute," he muttered. "But we'll all be out if we don't get the plane now."
A dozen lusty strokes took him to where the big craft was now lying motionless on the water. For several seconds he hung to theside, too weak to lift himself aboard. Then came another cry from where the other three were struggling in the water, thirty feet away.
Big Jack took in the situation at a glance. Andy was unable to help himself, and he was too much for the other weakened swimmers to handle. It was a desperate moment.
"Hey, you, Andy!" Jack shouted, in a peremptory, seemingly angry tone. "Tread water!"
Andy heard and seemed to realize. The others could not waste an ounce of strength in talk, but as Andy followed directions and so relieved them somewhat of his weight, they shot appreciative looks at Jack.
It was all up to him now. They couldn't make the plane with Andy. They couldn't abandon him to drown there.
"Steady!" shouted Jack. "I'll have the plane there in a minute."
So saying he jumped off the other side, and, throwing his whole weight in the plunge, and kicking out with all his strength, started the plane in the direction of the other three.
It was a long, killing task, but he did it, just as Andy's head went under. Don, now almost exhausted, grasped at a wing of the plane to save himself.
"Get on there, too!" Jack shouted to Fred as he dived for Andy. He came up an instant later, with the half-drowned man in his grasp.
Fred and Don were by now in the plane. Jack, puffing rapidly, held Andy's head above the water, while the other two caught their breath. Then, with the last effort they had in them, they hauled the unconscious Andy aboard, and Jack struggled up after him.
It was Jack now who was near the end of his tether. He had done nearly twice as much work as the others, and he had for the moment used up his last ounce of tremendous strength.
"Lay Andy across that frame," he weakly directed the other two. With great difficulty they followed his directions. But already Andy was showing signs of returning consciousness.
They left him where he was. There was nothing else any of them could do. They lay where they had sprawled, each gasping weakly for breath. When Andy opened his eyes it was to see them thus—and the shore line almost three miles away!
Andy moved slightly. It is altogether likely that at that moment he hadn't the slightest idea or recollection of where he was. The movement, however, was calculated tobring a sudden and somewhat rude awakening. Limp and to all appearances lifeless, Andy had been "hung" across the framework with a nicety of balance which the others at the time had not realized. When he moved all was different.
The equilibrium was lost, and Andy, with one wild and ineffective grasp at the empty air, came down with a thump and a grunt—a very life-like grunt—into the fuselage of the plane.
Despite their own miseries, the others could not help but smile. Andy gave a puzzled glance around, seemed to have his first realization of where he was, and, perhaps, an inkling of how he got there, and then he, too, grinned weakly.
Thus they lay for twenty minutes or half an hour, unable to do aught but watch the slowly receding line of shore, as parallel with it, they drifted southward.
This steady drift, however, was presenting a new menace. At any time wind or current might change to send them out to sea. To permit that would be to flirt with death from starvation and thirst, for there wasn't an ounce of petrol left in the tanks.
In an hour all had so far recovered as topermit a hasty counsel. They speedily reached a decision that there was but one thing to do, and that must be done at once. They must get the plane back to shore, and the only way that could be done was by one or two of them swimming, to give propulsion to the craft.
It promised to be a long and difficult task, but it presented none of the dangers that attended their swimming in the open sea. It was merely a matter of pairing off, and, two at a time, dropping over the sides, and, holding to the craft, pushing outward with their feet, the same as though they were swimming.
Jack and Don went at it first, and for half an hour they worked heroically, appreciably diminishing the distance between the craft and shore, but still leaving what seemed to be nearly two miles intervening. Then they were relieved by the now recovered Andy and Fred.
Thus alternating, they kept at the task for two hours, and the sun dipped in the western waters and twilight came before they were within what they could consider a safe distance of land.
It was Jack and Don who finished up the last lap, and, as darkness fell, brought the craft back into shallow water.
But they were upon an entirely different part of the coast—a barren, rocky section, apparently without inhabitants.
Fortunately each had, in the locker of the plane, a change of clothes. These they brought ashore, but not a match could they find.
Having securely anchored the craft this time, they entered a little grove, some hundred yards or more from the shore, and there changed their clothes, hanging the wet garments on the limbs of the trees to dry.
"We can't do more tonight," Jack yawned, when this job was completed. "I'm nearly dead, and I guess you fellows are, too. There's no sign of a house anywhere around here, so I guess we'll have to bunk on the ground for tonight."
"Suits me," said Andy Flures, wearily. "I could sleep anywhere."
With their arms for pillows they stretched out on the softest ground they could find, and before fifteen minutes had elapsed four husky but tired-out young men were snoring lustily and rapidly regaining their rest in sleep.
There is a time when Nature takes her toll, no matter what the worldly matters may be at stake.
It was well past three o'clock in the morning, though he had no means then of knowing the time, when Andy Flures turned stiffly upon his hard couch of Mother Earth, rubbed his eyes, then his sore joints, finally recollected where he was and looked about casually at the others in the group.
Though they were in a thin grove of trees, the soft light of a full moon bathed the landscape with a brightness that made everything easily visible.
Andy sat up to limber his joints the more. As he did so he wondered how the others felt.
"Pretty narrow escape all of us had today," he murmured to himself; and added, "Especially narrow for Andy."
He looked down at Fred, who was close beside him. He was snoring peacefully. He glanced over at Don, and he, too, seemed none the worse for the day's terrible work. His eye traveled on. He turned his head suddenly, and then peered all around withsomething of a panicky feeling coming over him.
He uttered an unconscious exclamation, and Fred moved and muttered in his sleep. Andy jumped up and walked around the grove, circling over an area of thirty or forty feet. Then he came back hurriedly to where Don and Fred lay sleeping.
Big Jack Carew was nowhere to be found, and for the first time it came to Andy with a terrible shock that there were times when, thoroughly exhausted, Carew became a somnambulist.
He dropped to his knees beside Fred and shook him mercilessly, at the same time calling Don.
Both men awakened about the same time; neither for the moment having any knowledge of where they were; both muttering against this rude awakening.
"You remember, the plane got away from us; we swam after it; we nearly drowned—all of us," Andy repeated hurriedly. "Remember?"
"Yes," Don answered, sitting up and sensing somehow that something was wrong.
"Well, why tell us about it now?" Fred complained sleepily.
"It's Jack I'm trying to tell you about," Andy answered in a shrill whisper. "He's gone. He isn't anywhere about the grove."
Don was on his feet in an instant, at the same time muttering a groan as he too suddenly put his stiffened joints into action.
The significance of the situation also began to sink into Fred's sleepy brain, and he, too, arose, demanding to know what had awakened Andy, and was he sure Jack was not playing a joke on them, or perhaps had gone down to take a look at the plane.
"He was too tired out for that sort of a joke," Andy responded, showing his apprehension in his voice. "And as for the plane, he knew that was safe enough."
"Do you think he's sleep-walking again?" Don asked nervously, still trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.
"I'm afraid so," Andy replied. "That's the reason I wakened you two." He addressed himself particularly to Don: "You remember that night after the all-day struggle with the Germans."
"I'll not forget it soon," Don answered, buttoning his coat and shuddering, although it was not cold.
"What was that?" demanded Fred. "What happened at that time?"
"We three had to bunk up much as we did tonight," Andy explained. "It was while you were on another sector. We had had a mighty tough day. Along toward the middle of the night Don awakened just as I did tonight, and he missed Jack. He called me. We couldn't find him anywhere. We had heard about his sometimes walking in his sleep, but we'd never had any experience. A search though, proved that he must have gone that way. Luckily, we picked up a police dog, and from Jack's paraphernalia we gave him the scent. He led us for half an hour straight toward the German lines, and when we were almost in sight of their outposts, there was Jack, tramping along, head up, but dead asleep. Ugh! It was the weirdest thing I ever went through, and we had to waken him gently to avoid a nerve shock."
"Great Scott!" ejaculated Fred. "I never heard of that. You never told me a thing about it."
"Never thought to, I guess," Don answered. "Never liked to think about it, anyway."
"And we haven't any police dog with us tonight," Andy supplemented. "I haven't the slightest doubt but that he's wandered offfrom here the same way, but how we're going to get his trail is what is worrying me."
Each of them experiencing a creepy sort of feeling, they emerged from the grove for a survey of the landscape. Not a clue did it reveal.
Don dropped to the ground in a vain effort to discover footprints, but the surface was so hard, and the moonlight so pale, that he found this a useless effort.
"I'm not usually superstitious," Fred said, finally, "but there are times when, nothing else being available, at least it doesn't do any harm to try something of that sort. I've heard it said that in such circumstances, when a thing has been lost or something like that, a feather tossed in the air will, as it comes to the ground, indicate the direction of the article sought. There is just a chance it might help here."
"But we haven't any feather," Andy complained helplessly.
"Doesn't necessarily have to be a feather," said Don. "Anything of the sort will do."
So saying he turned out the lining of his coat, swiftly tore a piece from it, rolled it into the semblance of a ball and tossed it as high as its light weight would permit intothe air. It fluttered there for a moment and then flitted lightly downward, carried this way and that as it rode the air.
But one thing the eager lads grasped at as significant: although they could not discern the slightest movement of the air, the piece of flimsy goods took a distinctly northerly direction and fell at a spot at least three feet in front of where Don had stood when he threw it.
"We'll try it, anyway," he said, leading the way.
They stalked forth without other guide than the fateful falling of the bit of silken cloth. Their path led along the shore where the waves of a calm sea lapped ceaselessly in a crooning lullaby. To the lads, on their unhappy mission, it had a weird, wild, unnerving sound.
They walked rapidly, close together, searching the ground for footprints, and as far ahead as they could see for any indication of the missing man.
"Look!" said Don, with startling suddenness, as he, somewhat in the lead, came to a spot where the ground was softer. The other two dropped to their knees beside him. There was no mistaking the fresh foot-prints,nor the fact that they were of about the size of Big Jack Carew's shoe.
"The sign was right!" exclaimed Andy, his voice shaky. "He has passed this way, and not long ago."
They arose and hastened onward. For a considerable distance the surface was sufficiently soft to plainly show the prints and they were able to jog along at a slow run. Then the ground suddenly became hard and rocky and began to rise in hilly sections.
"No more foot-prints," said Andy, "but the best thing we can do is to keep right on."
"Great guns!" exclaimed Fred, almost before Andy was through. He could say nothing more, but stood as though transfixed, pointing ahead and upward.
There, in plain sight of all, was Big Jack Carew, walking along the brow of a hill and headed straight toward where the jagged rocks ended over a cliff sheer over the ocean.
Fred cupped his hands to his mouth as though to shout.
"No! No!" Don warned. "Don't do that!"
He broke into a run and the others followed. The way was hard going, and several times they stumbled. It was a race against Fate,with the unconscious Jack Carew steadily nearing the cliff that would mean his instant death.
Don fell, and the other two continued on, his voice following them, bidding them not to lose an instant. He had strained a tendon and from that time on he made painful progress.
But he was in time to see Andy, breathless and nearly exhausted, come up with Jack when the other was not ten feet from the edge of the precipice.
Andy took no chances, and Don could have cheered as he saw him make a flying football tackle, catching Big Jack just above the ankles and throwing him heavily to the ground.
Fred arrived at that instant and sat down heavily on the big fellow's stomach.
As Don came up, Jack was just coming to his senses, his eyes indicating that he was not yet fully aware of where he was or of what had happened.
His first question indicated this, but no one was as yet sufficiently master of himself to answer. Fred merely waved a hand toward the cliff and the ocean below. Big Jack seemed slowly to comprehend. For an instanthe buried his face in his hand. A shudder ran over his big frame. He looked again toward where the rocks fell off sheer to the water below, and then put out his hand.
All three grasped it at once. There was no need of words: all understood, and most of all, Big Jack.
Silently they arose, and, walking slowly because of Don's lameness, headed back toward the grove.
They were half way there before anyone spoke. It was Jack.
"Who discovered I was gone?" he asked.
Don answered that it was Andy. Big Jack simply nodded, but he placed upon Andy's shoulder a shaking hand which said more than words.
There was something almost tragic about this rescue of a man who that very day had rescued all of them.
"Well," said Andy, always the first to recover, "it's over. Let's not think about it. Here we are, almost at the grove, and by jiminy, day's breaking."
And so it was. Dawn was chasing the moon, and daylight was only a matter of a quarter or half an hour.
They entered the grove and sat down.Andy bound a handkerchief tightly about Don's strained leg, and they discussed their plans for the immediate future.
"Well," said Fred, in the midst of this, "we know there's no road or human habitation in that direction," indicating from whence they had just come. "I suggest that our next effort be over there."
He pointed toward a gently rising slope to the north, and even as they looked the increasing daylight showed them that there lay what seemed to be a rough and seldom-used road.
"Right," said Jack. "That little jaunt of mine was rather tiring: Give me about fifteen or twenty minutes more and we'll see what we can discover out there."
They sat about chatting for another quarter of an hour. Then, Jack indicating that he felt fit, they took one more survey to make sure that the plane was still riding safely where they had anchored it the night before, and made ready to explore the unpromising road, in the hope of finding fellow human beings and perhaps breakfast. For by this time they felt nearly starved.