CHAPTER VIIICONDITIONS CHANGE
THE sun was getting lower in the heavens, but having spent so much time in the murky twilight of the clouds, the light still seemed very bright to them.
The clouds beneath them remained unchanged. Kiwi looked straight down and watched them as they drifted by until he became almost giddy. He called Jack’s attention to the shadow of the plane racing across this uneven surface.
Soon the sun disappeared from view, but the uncanny light still held. They flew on and on. There was nothing to see in all this vast plain.
No one seemed to be able to reason out where this uncanny light was coming from since the sun had set. All felt that a change had come over them. Where a few minutes before they had stared at disaster, now they ceased to worry about their engine or its failure.
The plane nearly flew itself. There were no bumps, and it needed very slight correction at the controls to keep it on its course. The clear light seemed to come from tiny bright particles in the air such as one sees on a dewy morning.
Gradually Kiwi became conscious of something ahead. Far off on the horizon the rolling clouds seemed to merge into something else. Could it be hills that he saw? He looked at their altimeter. It showed that they were flying at about twelve thousand feet. He glanced back to the horizon, and the land seemed plainer. He thought he must be dreaming. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and looked again. It was still there.
He glanced at Dad and Jack to see if they, too, had discovered it. Jack’s head was nodding and he appeared to be asleep. Dad was leaning forward with an intent gaze, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes as though he, too, could hardly believe that what he saw was true.
Kiwi saw him throw a quick glance across at Jack’s charts, study them for a moment, and then look quickly ahead again. The apparition was still there. The Skipper studied it for some minutes. It seemed miles and miles away, but was getting plainer.
Kiwi thought he could see darker masses slightly to the left.
Dad was still straining forward, and without moving his eyes from the horizon nudged Jack. Jack came to with a start, noticed the Skipper’s tense attitude, and peered ahead through that peculiar light. Slowly he, too, discovered those strange shapes. He consulted his map, then the compass and drift-indicator. Puzzled, he turned to the Skipper. Plainly here was something that neither could understand. At last Jack was able to say:
“Can it be a mirage?”
Without moving his eyes from it, the Skipper replied:
“It’s possible. Early one morning over St. Omer in France, I saw something like it for a few seconds. But this has been in sight now for some time.”
With each passing second the apparition was becoming a little more distinct.
Kiwi leaned forward, and asked:
“What is that, Dad? Have we reached land?”
Dad shook his head, and there was another long pause as they all studied this appearance of land ahead. Jack looked at his charts and knit his brows. He went over their course on the map and shook his head, as puzzled as ever. He could find no solution.
Now the hills, instead of coming nearer, seemed to recede. It should be night now, if their clock and watches were right. The dazzling light still puzzled them.
A little later, Jack turned to the Skipper and said:
“Doesn’t that look like a plane just above the horizon?”
In another few minutes they made out several more circling just over the hilltops. And then, off to the right, they could see about a dozen planes flying in formation. They also decided that some tiny specks on what seemed to be the surface of the clouds were other planes, resting there.
A look of helplessness was beginning to cloud the Skipper’s face. There had been few times in his flying experience when he had not had a very good idea of where he was. Once or twice he had been lost in the air, and it carried with it a feeling such as one never has when lost on the ground. On the ground, even on the darkest night and in a strange country, there was always the possibility of meeting someone who could supply directions, or of finding a signboard thatwould locate one. But in the air there was no passing stranger or friend that one could ask for help.
The Skipper remembered the first time that he had been hopelessly lost in the air.
It had happened while he was training in England. He had flown to an airdrome several miles from his own, hoping to find there an old friend and to renew acquaintances. He had followed a railroad line, which in almost every case is perfectly visible from the air and is the shortest connecting link between cities and towns. This particular railroad skirted in a wide circle a town near the airdrome he was to visit, and it was joined there by several other branches of the road.
Locating the airdrome, he landed. As he came down a severe rainstorm had swept over the field. Upon learning that his friend had been transferred to another airdrome, he was anxious to be off and away; but those at the field counselled him to wait until the storm was over.
In about twenty minutes the heavens above the field were clear, and he took off to return to his own airdrome. Picking up the railroad line again, he was confronted with the problem of deciding which branch he must follow. Relying on his compass, which he had every reason to believe was accurate, he chose the one that seemed to lead off in the right direction.
He had followed it for some time at an altitude of about five thousand feet when he overtook the same storm. The tops of the clouds were too high to surmount. They also extended nearly to the ground, and were emptying torrents of rain over miles of country. There was nothing to do but fly through them; and although in those days he had hadlittle or no experience in flying a compass course, he felt that now would be a good time to practise it.
Entering the clouds he had been appalled at the turmoil. The swirling winds carried him this way and that. He was dropped down fifty or a hundred feet and as quickly snatched up and carried upwards. He fought the storm for half an hour, marveling at the force of it.
His whole attention was devoted to keeping his plane on an even keel. Occasionally he glanced at his compass to see it turning this way and that, so that he had only a hazy idea of his general course. He watched, fascinated, as the lightning played through the thick clouds. Always he kept a close watch downward to catch the first view of the ground, hoping against hope that his guiding railway line would appear somewhere.
When the air did clear below, he was horrified to find nothing but water beneath him. For a matter of seconds he flew on, hoping that it might prove to be a lake or the wide mouth of a river.
Slowly it was borne in on his consciousness that he was out over the North Sea and that very probably his compass had been playing him tricks and could not be depended upon. However, the right waymustbe back, and losing no time he swung his plane around and started in that direction.
Almost at once he was again swallowed up by the storm, the rain coming down upon him in torrents.
His goggles became obscured and he pushed them up to get a clearer view ahead. The unaccustomed rush of wind and rain in his eyes made it impossible for him to see with any distinctness. After coming through the storm the firsttime, he had promised himself that never again would he voluntarily repeat such an experience. But here he was back in it again, fighting as hard as before to keep the plane flying in some semblance of a straight line. He could keep no track of the time, and when the storm did lessen he felt that it must have been hours that he had been fighting those contrary swirls of air.
A great feeling of relief welled up in him as he at last saw land underneath. Even though he had no idea of his location, at least there was solid ground under him. Bewildered, he looked for a sign—some town or some familiar forest formation—that would locate him.
Off to one side he saw a railroad line. Whether it was the same one that he had been following or not, he could not tell. But it would surely lead him to a place that might help him. The plane he was flying was a difficult one to land on a small or uneven field, and he had no intention of taking that risk unless it was necessary.
Sighting a town ahead he flew low, hoping to read the sign on the railroad station. His eyes still smarted from the rain. The station proved to be too well surrounded by telegraph wires on tall poles and the chimneys of a factory to permit him to fly near enough to make out the name.
He was completely lost. There was no doubt of it. There was nothing to do but go on, even though his fuel supply was getting dangerously low.
Another town, some distance away, lay wrapt in a haze. Approaching, he was overjoyed to recognize in the center of it a large, star-shaped building, probably a hospital. From this point he knew he could find his way. He rememberedthat near by there was a large country house surrounded by a formal garden. He looked in the direction where he expected to see it, but it was not there. When he did locate the house it seemed completely turned around, and he had to readjust himself to this changed condition before he could shape his course for home. As he did so, and the compass ceased its slow turning, he discovered that it was off many points and had been one of the causes of his bewilderment. He was now able to find his way to his own airdrome without further trouble.
Now, again, the Skipper had the same peculiar, lost sensation. Even though he had Jack, an expert navigator, with him, the situation in which he found himself brought back the old baffled, hopeless feeling. It had been a long time since they had left the ship behind—since they had seen anything but this rolling plain of clouds—and now they were facing a situation so unusual that he felt numb trying to understand it.
Land seemed to be ahead where their charts told them no land could be. Several planes were flying in their direction. One, large and unwieldy, approached quite close, its occupants leaning over the side, studying them.
Kiwi thought he knew every type of plane that was being flown in his day and age, but he had never seen one like this before. Jack pointed it out to the Skipper and they both examined it closely.
Suddenly the Skipper blurted out, “Why it’s a Gotha!”
As the plane came nearer to them it dipped lower and made its ponderous way to one side; then it swung in a wide circle and drew close behind them.
As they flew on, other planes passed above and beneath them, and the Skipper’s face grew more and more bewildered as he identified, one after another, planes long obsolete in the flying world. A monoplane, such as Bleriot had made history with in crossing the English Channel some twenty years ago, appeared. Early types used in the war swooped down upon them.
As they sailed along the great plateau, more and more planes whose pilots seemed filled with curiosity came into view.
They were being hemmed in closer and closer. Dotted here and there on the surface were machines of every conceivable design. The crew of the “Dauntless” were at a loss to explain it all.
Stretched out on his perch on the top of the tank Kiwi was immensely interested in the sight.
One pilot in an old bombing plane, a clumsy flyer at best, edged in so close to get a better view that the Skipper had to turn sharply to avoid a collision. Everywhere they looked were antiquated planes continually closing in on them.
The Skipper began to fear that he would never be able to pilot the “Dauntless” through this swarm. As they twisted and turned, Jack leaned from his window and tried to signal the other planes that theymuststay farther away. They were like a cloud of birds pecking at an owl who had looted their nests. The Skipper grew nervous at the thought of being driven down to a landing.
There seemed to be a concerted action to keep the “Dauntless” from continuing its flight. Try as he would, the Skipper could find no way in which to shake off these persistentpursuers. Their motor which a short time before, with its missing and spluttering, had brought their hopes of ever seeing India to an end, now functioned with absolute perfection.
Constantly they were being driven closer to the surface, and even though they had outdistanced some of the heavier and slower machines, others had taken up the chase and were frolicking about them.
Kiwi was delighted with their tumbling antics.
In a few minutes more they were so close to the ground that there was nothing left for them to do but land. The Skipper, his face red with anger, yanked back the throttle; the motor quieted down till the propeller was just ticking over. They glided rapidly in. The wheels found support on the surface. They had landed.