CHAPTER VIIMID-ATLANTIC
WITHOUT a word the Skipper touched Jack on the arm. He looked up, and the Skipper pointed to their trouble. As Jack took off his earphones, he mechanically sent out “Stand by.”
Both Jack and the Skipper turned over in their minds plans for remedying this trouble. The Skipper immediately turned off the flow of fuel that was being pumped into the right wing tank from the main tank. The fuel remaining in the wing tank continued to leak out, for it came through the pipe line into the carburetor by gravity. By adjusting his valves the Skipper drew on his supply in the left wing tank.
They were in a desperate plight. Something must be done at once to stop this leak. Although they had tried to provide for every emergency, here was one which would tax their ingenuity to the utmost.
They had a large roll of tape and a bottle of liquid similar to shellac in the equipment; but whether Jack could reach back far enough to tape the break was doubtful. However, heopened the sliding window beside him and tried it. For the first time in his life he regretted his broad shoulders, for the small window gave him no room in which to work. Once the rush of the wind nearly tore the tape from his hands. He slipped back into his seat to rest for a moment, after the twisting strain he had been under.
Kiwi had been watching with absorbed interest while this maneuver was going on. He asked Dad if he might try. The Skipper said it was impossible; but Jack was on Kiwi’s side and thought it might be accomplished.
With a little jockeying they got Kiwi down to the window, and with Jack holding firmly to his legs he leaned far out and attempted to wrap the tape around the break. The rushing of the wind was more than he had counted on, and he felt it pull and claw at his clothes as he hung half out of the window. In this awkward position it was almost impossible for him to do anything, and he motioned to Jack to haul him back into the cockpit.
Then Kiwi put forth the suggestion which made both the Skipper and Jack catch their breath. Would Jack help him through the window and lower him until his feet touched the struts which supported the wing, where he felt that he could brace himself and do the job?
Kiwi saw a look of horror pass over Dad’s face, but he was sure it could be done. Using all the arguments he could think of, he at last convinced Jack, and Dad grudgingly gave his consent for the try.
Slipping out of his jacket so that Jack could get a firm hold on the leather belt at his waist, Kiwi started, feet first, through the window. Inch by inch he wormed his way out,reaching with his feet for the strut where it joined the fuselage.
The Skipper banked the plane over to help Kiwi as much as he could. He saw the perspiration stand out on Jack’s face, and noticed its set expression as Kiwi’s feet groped about for support. Another inch and he might reach it! The force of the wind was terrific.
Kiwi, under this strain, was not conscious of the cold now. He had to look down to find the strut. Just at this time they were passing over mountains of clouds. He caught a glimpse, hundreds of feet below, of a yawning cloud valley with the churning masses of gray fog in a whirling turmoil. Its awful immensity scared him for a second. Then he located the strut with his foot and tested its strength.
As soon as Jack felt that Kiwi had some support, he lowered him until both his feet were pressed against the strut. Then Kiwi slowly faced around and found that he could just reach the pipe line. The orange side of the plane stretched out behind him, and he was vaguely conscious of the word “Dauntless” in huge block letters.
Keeping a grip on Kiwi’s belt with one hand, Jack with his other hand passed out the roll of tape, and the slow work of winding it commenced. Inch by inch Kiwi wound, the fuel freezing his fingers in the terrific cold. He had one layer completed, and Jack passed out the shellac. Somehow or other he got a coat of it over the tape. It dried almost instantly, and the difficult work of another layer was begun.
Kiwi signalled to Jack that he must rest, and Jack eased him over to the side, where he hung shaking with weariness from his efforts.
The Skipper was undergoing untold tortures, for he could only guess at what was going on. Jack’s body at the window shut off his view of Kiwi. He was doing everything in his power to hold the plane steady, using every particle of his skill to keep the bumps from causing Kiwi to lose his footing.
But in spite of all the Skipper’s efforts, one particularly vicious bump caused Kiwi to slip, and for just a second he wondered wildly if Jack could hold him from dropping off into that awesome space. His feet found the struts again, and he rested.
Slowly another layer was put on, and the flow stopped. To make sure, another coat of shellac was put on and another layer of tape. Just then a few drops of rain warned of another shower.
At last the job was finished, and only time could tell if it would hold.
Then came the struggle to get the boy back into the plane. Slowly and painfully he was drawn up to the level of the window. With a final tug he was pulled inside, and Jack, with his last remaining strength, lifted Kiwi to the top of the tank.
They were an exhausted crew for the next few minutes, there in the middle of the broad Atlantic.
A great deal of altitude had been lost, and they were now in the midst of churning clouds. It was quite probable that the Skipper, in trying to make things as easy as possible for Jack and Kiwi during their terrific ordeal, had gone considerably off the course. In tipping the plane over sideways he had flown in big circles, and it was necessary that they lose no time in resuming their straight flight.
The Skipper at once began to climb back above the clouds. The plane was still soaked from the rain squalls they had passed through. Not long after, they came out into the bright sunshine, and there directly ahead of them, like a promise for their success, was a tremendous rainbow. It reassured their worn spirits, and the Skipper pointed it out to Kiwi with the comforting words:
“There’s your pay for a good job done.”
It was unlike rainbows seen on the ground, for the delicate colors made a complete circle. Kiwi looked down and there on the uneven surface of a cloud was the distinct shadow of their plane moving toward the rainbow. Then the plane seemed to pass completely through it. Surely a good omen for the success of their flight.
The Skipper felt that there could be no better time than this for a little food. They finally located a package of sandwiches, and he and Jack refreshed themselves from the thermos bottle. The coffee was still piping hot. Kiwi, after eating a sandwich, finished the other orange that Old Bill had given him.
Their spirits rose tremendously. Jack put on his head-phones and put out a call to find some one who would verify their position.
The Malin Head station in Ireland got signals through to Jack much plainer than they had in earlier attempts. After some trying, Jack got the latitude and longitude of Malin Head and their directional bearing. Locating on the map the Malin Head station, and drawing a line on the map on the bearing the station had given him, meant that a similar bearing from a different angle would locate the plane’s position over the Atlantic. He now needed a check-up from another station.
TheAquitania, twelve hours out of Cherbourg, sent its position, and from its directional radio the bearing. It was then the work of but a moment to make the necessary calculations, and Jack placed his pencil point down upon the chart and said, “Well, that’s where we are now.”
About half of their water crossing had been accomplished.
Still Kiwi had no view of the ocean under them. In the hours since they had left the coast of Newfoundland, they had always been in the clouds or had had a heavy layer beneath them. They were flying at about eight thousand feet, and ahead of them now was a huge wall of clouds that seemed to extend upward fully eighteen thousand feet. The light shone on them, lighting up the peaks and valleys of the cloud mountains. They approached the clouds rapidly, and once in them the plane was plunged into a heavy twilight.
The air bumps here were terrific, tossing them about, and the Skipper was obliged to keep his eye constantly on the bank and climb indicator in order to keep the plane on anything resembling an even keel. As they had entered the clouds the wind had been nearly dead astern, and here in the murky darkness they were compelled to trust solely to their instruments for navigation. The wind caught them up in fierce eddies, and swirls of gray clouds sucked up past them. Flashes of lightning darted here and there. The plane seemed to have no more stability than a kite.
Kiwi’s heart leaped as one tremendous bolt of lightning flashed before his eyes, just ahead. He felt the entire plane quiver under the impact of the blows struck by the wind. They had become accustomed to the roar of the motor, and now it seemed as though they could hear the noise of the storm.
As the wind howled by, they could feel the air growing colder and colder. Kiwi watched the magnetic compass, set up high above the instrument board, swing first one way and then the other with the twisting and turning of the plane as it was buffeted by the winds.
Jack had stopped all attempts to use his wireless, and had his spare control stick in place ready to help the Skipper should he tire from his tremendous exertions. Both their faces showed the strain of flying through the storm.
As the cold increased, sleet began to beat against the windows, and Jack glanced out uneasily to catch the first indication of ice forming on their wings. He realized the seriousness of such a happening. The upper and lower surface of the wing was cambered, or curved, in a scientific way to help lift the load of the plane, and anything that changed this curve would destroy its lifting power. Therefore at the first sign of ice forming on the wings they must begin a hunt for warmer air currents. Ice often formed with great rapidity, and knowing this both the Skipper and Jack watched closely for the first tell-tale sign. The engine was throttled back about a quarter to the best cruising speed.
There seemed to be no end to the storm. It had been nearly half an hour since they had left the clear sunshine and entered into this ominous twilight. They had held their altitude, knowing that it was no use to try to climb above the clouds, and having no assurance that it would be better lower down. Every little while rain would suddenly fall, and as suddenly stop.
All at once they were conscious of a thin film of the dreaded ice forming over the cockpit windows. Jack slipped back theglass panel and looked out. There on the leading edge of the wing was the unmistakable sign that ice was starting to form. In uneven lumps it was building slowly backwards....
Jack told the Skipper the disquieting news and shouted to Kiwi to slide back to his window in the rear compartment to see if the trailing edge of the wing was also gathering ice. Kiwi’s window was not as badly obscured as were those in front. He could see a thin layer of ice on the trailing edge working forward with great rapidity, and he crept over the tank to report this to Dad.
“We’ll try it lower,” Dad said. “We may strike some warm air there.”
Shutting off the engine as much as he dared, they coasted on down and down.
They tried it at the five thousand foot level for a few minutes. If anything they accumulated ice faster.
They went down another thousand feet. The plane seemed to be much heavier on the controls. Still no halt in the gathering of the ice.
The situation was becoming desperate, and the Skipper told Jack to try and get into communication with some ship. If the ice kept on forming it would mean that they would have to land on the water in another fifteen or twenty minutes. In order to fly level it was necessary to run their engine almost at its maximum.
They brought the plane lower down, and still they could see nothing but swirling clouds.
Jack was sending out their call letter with the S O S to show that they were in trouble. He got a feeble answer, and worked with his instruments trying to bring it nearer and clearer.
Still the hateful ice piled onto them. Extending back from the leading edge of the wing it was now fully an inch thick. It was freezing in the narrow slots of their ailerons. The Skipper was finding it increasingly difficult to balance the plane sideways.
He came down to a thousand feet, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the ocean underneath. All was gray and murky.
Jack was working feverishly with his sending key and listening for an answer to his calls. Two ships in their eagerness to help were interfering with the reception of either message.
The engine was now wide open, and they were staggering along under the load of ice. They could not see the tail of the plane, but knew from the way the elevator operated that it, too, was covered with ice. Slowly they were losing altitude.
Jack was getting one of the calls a little better. The ship was sending her position and asking for theirs. The Skipper, now thoroughly alarmed and feeling that they were to be forced into the water, called to Kiwi to get their collapsible boat and put it where it could be reached in an instant. It was stored in the rear.
Kiwi made his way back, unlashed it from where it hung, and started forward. As he crept to the front he saw Jack, every nerve tense, trying to make out the code, and Dad straining his eyes to catch the first glimpse of the heaving water.
Nothing but the deep grayish blue everywhere.
Suddenly, out of the gloom ahead, they made out a white shape rising straight up a hundred feet above them. It lookedpale and ghostly. There was no time to figure out what it might be. The Skipper instinctively yanked the stick back. The plane staggered up, making a valiant effort to obey the demands of its pilot. Jack glanced up from his instruments just in time to see this white spectre approaching with terrific speed. He turned a look of amazement and horror upon the Skipper.
The plane climbed ever so sluggishly, but as the shape came rushing at them they saw that it would be cleared if only by a matter of inches.
“It’s an iceberg!” exclaimed Jack.
The Skipper pushed the stick forward and leveled out just as their flying speed was dropping to an alarming extent. He was hardly quick enough, for one wing dropped and they started into a flat spin. At once the Skipper put the nose down until they had flying speed.
They rushed along. Realizing that there might be morebergs in the neighborhood, both watched ahead with a fascinated gaze. They saw two more—one to their right, so close that their throats tightened with the fear of it.
Strangely enough the air here seemed a little warmer. The plane was handling better, and they began to hope that the ice was not gaining on them.
Twenty minutes went by, and they began to feel a little easier. Now there was no doubt but that they had hit a warm air current and the ice was melting.
The Skipper was able to throttle back the engine and still keep an altitude of about one hundred feet above the ocean. They were close enough now to see the mighty heave of its waters, the blue-black of its surface broken here and there by white foam as the waves broke.
Another hour they hurtled along, the air getting clearer, when suddenly Kiwi noticed away to their right a big ship plunging along. The red of her funnels and the white of her decks contrasted sharply with the dullness of the background. He pointed it out to the two men in front, and the Skipper bore over toward it.
“Send them a message, Jack, that we’ll keep going,” he said.
Jack started with his key, sent out his call letter, and waited for its acknowledgment. The answer came, very faint:
“Your signals weak. Can hardly hear you.”
He tried again. The answer was just audible.
“Can’t hear you. Are you sending?”
By this time they were very close to the ship and Jack shouted to the Skipper:
“Something wrong with the wireless. They can’t hear us.”
During the next few seconds it took to come abreast the ship, it flashed through the Skipper’s mind that at the time of their narrow escape from the iceberg it was quite possible that their wireless aerial, trailing underneath, had been torn off. He barked out to Jack:
“Try sending the message with your flashlight!”
Among the numberless things that had been stowed away aboard the plane, Jack had provided himself with a powerful flashlight to use in such an emergency.
As they swooped low over the ship they could see the rails lined with passengers staring up at them. Jack opened his window and thrusting the flashlight over the side started blinking the message as the Skipper tilted the plane over and began a wide circle around the liner.
Kiwi was craning his neck over Jack’s shoulder, and saw a light sending out flashes from the bridge. Profiting by Jack’s training, he was able to read the ship’s message. It said:
“Your flashes too weak. Can’t read them.”
Informed of this, the Skipper decided that they would have to write a note and try to drop it on the decks.
Jack hastily wrote out the message:
“Trouble over. We’re going on. Your position, please.”
Looking for something with which to weight it, his eye lighted on one of the bottles of water, and with a rubber band that he had been using to keep his writing pad in position, he fastened the note to the bottle and signalled the Skipper to fly into position to drop it.
The Skipper swung in a wide circle and approaching the ship from the stern as slowly as he could, he yelled to Jack:
“Heave it out when you’re ready!”
As they flew directly over the ship they felt a great air bump as they crossed the smoke-stacks and were struck by the heated column of air. As they passed the bow of the boat Jack leaned far out and threw the bottle downward.
Kiwi felt the plane lurch as Dad turned it quickly to watch the bottle’s descent. It went hurtling down, and for a second it seemed as though it would strike the bridge. Then the wind caught it, it struck one of the lifeboats and bounded off into the water. It was disheartening, but they must try again.
Jack wrote a repetition of the message, and then was at a loss to know what he could use to weight it with. There was just one more bottle of water, and it was too precious to use for this purpose. Both Jack and the Skipper thought fast. Then the Skipper said, “Here,” and reaching into his inside pocket beneath his flying suit, he pulled out a cigarette case. It was a silver case, heavily engraved, that the men of his squadron had presented to him at Christmas, 1918, after the war had ended.
Jack made a sign that it was a shame to risk it, but the Skipper shrugged his shoulders, and Jack hastily added to the message, “Return this case to Captain McBride later.” He slipped the message inside the case and clicked it shut.
The Skipper jockeyed into position for another try. This time he came down even lower and kept to the leeward side of the ship. Rushing along nearly on a level with the top decks, they had passed the ship before Jack had time to hurl his message.
Again the Skipper swung the plane around, and this time as he drew alongside Jack leaned out and threw the case with all his might. It went spinning toward the ship, sailed over the rail, struck a hatchway, and was pounced upon by one of the stokers on the forward deck.
The crowd on board waved frantically to the plane above. The “Dauntless” swung in a wide circle and came back over the ship for the last time. A puff of steam from the whistle and a flashing light on the bridge showed that those on board had read the plane’s message were sending them the ship’s position and a “good-bye.”
Straightening out on their course, after Jack had read the ship’s answer, they flew on at top speed and soon left the ship far behind.
Kiwi scrambled back to his little window, and with his face pressed against the pane saw the liner melt into the haze. A great feeling of loneliness came over him as he saw it disappear from view. The fleeting glimpse he had had of other human beings had served to bring home to him their utter detachment from the world. He commenced to realize how long they had been on their way, and thinking back overtheir trials and adventures he suddenly felt very weary. He longed for sleep, but Dad called out:
“How about some lunch, Kiwi?”
Kiwi unwrapped his own sandwiches and climbing up on the tank offered them to Dad and Jack, but found that they were already busy with some of their own. The food and coffee seemed to cheer up the two men, and the engine hummed merrily along carrying them on their way.
Sitting crouched on the top of the tank, Kiwi’s head nodded several times. Feeling himself slipping off into slumber, he stretched out. Above the noise of the engine he could hear Dad singing with great gusto an old negro spiritual that he was very fond of:
“I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,When I get home.I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,When I get home.“I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.“I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.”
“I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,When I get home.I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,When I get home.“I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.“I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.”
“I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,When I get home.I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,When I get home.
“I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,
When I get home.
I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,
When I get home.
“I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.
“I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,
When I get ho-o-m-m-e.
I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,
When I get ho-o-m-m-e.
“I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,When I get ho-o-m-m-e.”
“I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,
When I get ho-o-m-m-e.
I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,
When I get ho-o-m-m-e.”
Kiwi must have slept for a couple of hours. He awoke with the feeling that something was wrong. Almost instantly he discovered that the steady beat of the engine had changed. It was missing and spluttering and the plane was vibrating in a terrifying way.
Jack was working with his wireless instrument. Kiwi saw him shake his head and complain, “Nothing I can do will bring those signals loud enough to be of any use.”
He gave it up and the Skipper asked him to check up the amount of fuel they had left in their tanks. Yes, there was plenty of fuel, for the Skipper nodded his head.
They were above the clouds. As far as the eye could see they were stretched out in a rolling plain, looking for all the world like drifted snow. They looked solid enough to land upon.
If their engine failed to pick up within the next few minutes, they would lose altitude until there was nothing left to do but crash ... and their flight would end in disaster.