CHAPTER VREADY TO HOP

THE christening was over, and the publicity that it brought had added interest to their flight. In the days before the christening they had scarcely ever been bothered by crowds around the hangar.

Now things were changed. Whenever the plane was inside the hangar, the doors had to be kept closed, or ropes stretched, to keep the idle curious from interfering with the work in hand. Rumors were continually being broadcast that a surprise take-off was imminent, which brought throngs to the field at all hours of the day and night.

Reporters on special assignments were always bothering the Skipper and Jack with questions about the performance of the plane, how long they expected it would take them to get to India, and about incidents in their lives that the reporters thought would be of interest to the public.

From one source or another they found out about the Skipper’s war record—how he had gone to a ground school in this country, had been sent to England to finish his flying training, and, this completed, had waited in England forweeks for an assignment to an American Squadron; how the shortage of planes on the American front had prevented this; how the British, who had spent time and money in training American pilots, found themselves with plenty of planes and a scant supply of their own men to fly them; how the British government had finally asked and received permission from the American authorities to send some of these American pilots to France to work with the British flying corps; how the Skipper had gone out under this arrangement and fought with great distinction with his British comrades.

The newspaper men had also looked up stories about the Skipper that had been printed in his home papers during the war. These they reprinted—stories of the miraculous way in which he had come through months of hard flying with scarcely a scratch; of his spending a couple of weeks at one of the base hospitals in France, recovering from a slight wound made by a machine-gun bullet as he was diving on a balloon near Armentieres, and then, without waiting for the usual sick leave, of his hurrying back to his squadron andplunging once more into the daily round of patrols, shooting down two enemy planes the very day of his return.

During one fight, when he was within a hair’s breadth of adding one more enemy machine to his score, his engine had stopped in the midst of a zoom, and the enemy, realizing he was getting the worst of it, had streaked for home, leaving the Skipper several miles behind the enemy lines with just enough altitude to glide down to No Man’s Land, where he had scrambled from his machine into a shell hole. There he crouched while the enemy artillery battered his plane to pieces with shell fire. Getting his direction, in the failing light, from the line of enemy balloons, he had made his way, as soon as darkness came, to his own lines.

Stumbling across the torn and broken country, he had come across a British Tommy badly wounded, and had dragged him to safety. For this and other of his exploits he had been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, one of the highest British decorations given to airmen.

Then, when the Skipper’s leave to England had come around, after six months at the front, he, with several others, had been summoned to Buckingham Palace to be decorated by the King. He had nervously awaited his turn at the end of a long red carpet which led to the platform where the King stood. He had walked forward and saluted, more frightened than he had ever been in the midst of a scrap in the air. The King had pinned on the cross, had asked him one or two questions about his flying, had thanked him for his splendid services as an American with the British army, and before he knew it the interview was over and he was on his way out.

DISTINGUISHEDFLYING CROSS

The newspapers printed all this, and drew on their imagination for a great deal more.

They gave a full description of Jack’s training and work with the Navy and his flying ability. But most of all, they devoted many paragraphs to his development of a device which was a really practical drift indicator. This ingenious instrument, upon which they were going to rely during their long hop, seemed to solve the problem of correcting theirdrift, even in clouds and fog. Heretofore, pilots attempting to navigate over long distances of fog-obscured areas had found themselves unable to tell whether or not the wind was carrying them sideways off their course.

The story of Kiwi’s life and his adventures also became public property.

Billings was not much help to reporters. Naturally taciturn, he became even more so with newspaper men, and was almost surly in his refusal to help them out with their stories.

Cosgrave, however, liked the chance to talk, and did so on every occasion. The Skipper finally warned him he had better say little or nothing at all, and that if there were any information the papers should have, he, the Skipper, would give it.

One evening the Skipper had taken Billings back to the houseboat with him, and during supper he tried to draw him out about Cosgrave and what he, Billings, thought of him.

During the conversation, Kiwi suddenly remembered the things he had overheard, on the morning that Dad and Jack were at Trenton, in the back room of the hangar. He told Dad about it.

Dad frowned, and for several minutes seemed deep in thought. Then he said, “Billings, I don’t want to be unfair to Cosgrave—he may be all right. We have very little proof that he isn’t. But I am going to ask you to keep an eye on him. Watch his work on the plane, and if you see the slightest thing that looks suspicious, I want you to come and tell me.”

Billings had promised to do this, and the Skipper tried to dismiss from his mind the thought that there might be forcesworking against them other than the natural ones which they expected to have to contend with.

The Skipper and Jack pushed ahead with their preparations. Their collapsible boat was delivered and they tested it. When folded, it took up very little room. Attached to it was a metal cylinder containing compressed air, and it was the work of a moment to open the valve in this cylinder and inflate the boat. With it were two tiny oars and a water-tight pocket in which could be packed medical supplies and condensed food.

They inflated the boat, and Dad and Jack and Kiwi navigated their strange craft about the harbor, returning to the houseboat all too soon to please the boy who enjoyed this novel way of traveling.

The time before the hop-off was getting short, and there was still one detail that gave them considerable concern. They could not seem to prevent the vibration of the engine from interfering with the proper functioning of their instruments. It was annoying to have one or the other of their dials go wrong.

Jack finally decided to remove the whole thing, and regroup the instruments so that all those which had to do with navigation would be in one part of the board and the engine instruments in another. The compasses, the drift-indicator, the dial which registered their turn and climb were placed on one side, and in front of the Skipper were the oil-pressure, engine temperature, tachometer or engine revolution counter, the fuel gauges and the dial which showed their altitude.

The entire instrument board had to be protected in some way from the vibration, and it was Billings’ scheme to set iton four rubber blocks which he cut from ordinary rubber bath sponges.

All this took hours of Billings’ time, for each instrument had to be disconnected and replaced. However, late one night it was finished, and the Skipper decided that, inasmuch as the time was getting very short, they would test it at once.

As the plane was rolled out of the hangar, the news spread that they were about to go, and the crowds gathered. Their announcement that it was only a test flight was not believed.

When they were ready to leave the ground they found the field covered with people, and try as they would they could find no open space long enough to make the take-off safe. It was a warm summer night, and apparently everyone for miles around had driven to the field. The Skipper and Jack eventually had to abandon the night test and wait until morning.

A plan had been forming for some time in Kiwi’s mind. He had a queer sinking sensation every time he thought of Dad and Jack going off without him. He saw no reason why he, too, should not go when the plane left.

The stories he had heard of India made him want to land there, too. He liked to think of the warm, tropical days and nights in that strange country. Bert had brought him a bookof stories about India which had thrilled him. These stories told of hunting wild animals from the backs of enormous elephants. He liked to imagine himself seated in one of the howdahs—the canopied, chairlike saddle strapped to the back of a richly decorated elephant.

He remembered one story of a playful elephant, said to be over a hundred years old, who pretended to be thoroughly frightened every time he crossed a stream of water for fear quicksands would suck him down.

He would picture himself wandering through the narrow streets of the cities, with vistas of temples ahead—their domes shining in the sunlight, covered with layers of pure gold that had been added to them through the centuries, until, on some of the oldest temples, the gold leaf was a quarter of an inch thick.

Kiwi had asked Dad a number of times to take him along, but Dad had always dismissed his request as being out of the question. However, in the darkness and confusion of that night attempt, Kiwi thought he saw how it could be accomplished. He was sure that if there were as much confusion at the actual take-off, it would be a simple matter for him, in the darkness, to crawl under the plane, open the trapdoor in the rear compartment, and slip in unobserved.

Kiwi realized that Dad would be upset about his disobedience, but he felt sure that he could make himself useful on the trip, and that both Dad and Jack would be glad he had come.

The more he thought about it, the more he knew he couldn’t bear to be left behind, and the more determined he was to go with them. During the next two or three days, as Dad andJack were making the final test flights, he worked out in his mind all the necessary details.

Weather reports were taking up more and more of Jack’s time, but Kiwi kept up with his wireless practice. He could now send twelve words a minute and receive almost ten.

About eleven o’clock one night, as Jack got his weather reports and checked them up from his chart, he called the Skipper over and said:

“Things look as favorable now as they have for some time. There is a storm near Chicago moving this way, but I don’t think it can possibly arrive until about eight in the morning. There is another one directly in our path in about the middle of the Atlantic; but from the reports I have it is moving northward and should be well out of our way by the time we get there. If you say the word, I’m for starting in the morning.”

The Skipper replied, “The plane is ready. The weather is up to you, Jack. Let’s go!”

Telephone calls were put through to the field and to the official who was to seal the barograph[5]before they started. They sent word to Old Bill at the lunch wagon to pack the food and to get the thermos bottles filled.

5.Barograph—An instrument which records on a chart the variations in height above sea level.

About twelve-thirty, when everything was packed and ready and they were about to start for the field, they got another report from the weather man. In the two hours that had elapsed since the previous report, conditions had changed for the worse. The mid-ocean storm which they had known about, had altered its course and was heading in toward Newfoundland.

Jack and the Skipper talked it over and decided they had better put off the attempt until there was a better chance of having favorable conditions. This meant more telephone calls to tell of their change in plans.

When they talked to Billings on the phone, he said that the field was already covered with people and cars, and that it was more than likely the crowd would refuse to believe the take-off had been postponed. He said the plane was in perfect condition, and that he believed he would stay at the hangar the rest of the night.

The Skipper

It was a great disappointment to Kiwi, for his excitement had risen to fever pitch. However, he was packed off to bed, and for the next few days all their plans waited on favorable news from the weather man. Conditions over Long Island seemed perfect for the take-off. The moon was just approaching the full.

Kiwi, for the first time, realized how many others were helping in this tremendous undertaking. Wireless operators on many ships plunging across the ocean were flashing their news of conditions as they found them at sea. Other wireless operators in lonely places were sending their data of wind velocities, rain and sleet. All this information was being gathered and carefully analyzedfor these two men who would soon come to know the vagaries of nature at first hand.

Kiwi was already in bed and asleep one night when an unusual bustle about the houseboat awoke him, and he sensed that something was up. Word had come through that the path was open for the great dash across the Atlantic.

Preparations to start were again made, with innumerable last things to be thought of. Kiwi was able to pack a tiny lunch and stuff it into his pocket unobserved.

Jack

They were rowing ashore to pick up Bert when Dad said to Kiwi:

“Now, boy, after we leave, you will be taking your orders from Bert. Everything is taken care of, and he will look after you until we come back. See that you always do what you know I would want you to do.”

Kiwi smiled, sheepishly, but could think of nothing to say.

The ride over to the field seemed to take hours. Neither Dad nor Jack talked much, but Bert managed to say to Kiwi:

“Well, they will soon be off, and then you and I will sit and wait for news of their arrival.”

As they drove onto the field they saw cars parked everywhere, and crowds thick about the entrance to thebuilding. They pushed through them, and there in the lighted hangar stood the great bird ready for its flight.

It had been planned to start from the long runway on the adjoining field, and the greater part of their load of fuel had been stored there in readiness. Before the hangar doors were opened, all their kit had been stowed in the plane, even Kiwi finding an opportunity to hide away his little package of lunch in the rear compartment.

At last the hangar doors were opened, and ropes having been stretched to keep the crowd back, the plane was rolled out, its tail lashed to the rear of a truck and, followed by the crowd, it began its mile-and-a-half journey to the other field across the rolling ground. Its mighty wing bobbed and rocked about as if anxious to be off and away.

The moon was partly hidden by a thin layer of clouds so that the night seemed unusually dark. There was practically no wind.

Arriving at the far end of the runway on the other field, the tail of the plane was set on the ground, and flood lights were temporarily placed which threw a ghostly glow over the “Dauntless.”

Cosgrave and Billings started at once to pump in the precious supply of fuel. Jack went back to the hangar to get the last minute weather reports, while the Skipper, easily the coolest person in the crowd, chatted with the backers of his flight.

As the hours passed the crowd grew, but this time they were being held back behind lines by the police.

Old Bill from the restaurant came puffing up with the thermos bottles and sandwiches, and with a sly wink toKiwi handed him a couple of oranges, saying, “You may need these, Kiwi.”

Kiwi became more and more confused. He began to wonder if it were going to be as easy as he had thought to stow away when the plane left. He had not counted on those blinding lights. But he stuck close to Dad and hoped for the best.

About four o’clock the tanks were filled. Fifteen spare cans, holding four gallons each, had been stowed in the rear compartment and lashed tight. The barograph was put aboard and sealed by the official from Washington.

Billings, in a fever of excitement, decided they’d better give the engine one more try; so the canvas tarpaulin over the engine and propeller was removed and the engine roared into life. Billings ran it long enough to satisfy himself that it was working perfectly, then turned it off.

The heavy silence that fell was almost oppressive. A meadow lark sprang into the air, with the exultant little song they sing at dawn. Everyone was tense with the thought of the great test that was soon to come.

Jack came back from the hangar with the report that conditions were as favorable as they had been at any time.

They waited for the daylight.

There was the sound of a motor overhead, and a plane with a news photographer aboard swept over them.

Still the darkness lingered.

The sun by now should have been lighting up the eastern horizon. Instead, came a patter of raindrops, and Billings rushed to cover up his precious engine and propeller to protect them from the dampness.

It rained harder. Many of the crowd, seeing the engine covered up, decided that the flight was off for that day.

A little group stood under the protecting wing of the plane and waited to see how bad the storm would be.

Dad turned to Kiwi. “Kiwi, you had better look up Bert and go back to the hangar with him.”

Kiwi’s face fell. Plainly disappointed, he nodded his head and disappeared into the darkness toward the place where Bert’s car had been parked.

The crowd thinned with the usual remark that this was another false alarm.

As suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped.

Jack, who had expected these local showers, said he thought it would clear up soon. Not long after, a faint, gray light appeared in the east, telling of the approach of a new day.

The Skipper was impatient to get away. He told Billings to take the cover off the engine, and he and Jack made a last examination of the whole plane. They looked at the shock absorbers, noting that with the heavy load there was very little play left in them. The Skipper said, however, that there was enough.

By this time Billings was ready to start the motor. Before the eyes of the small group who had waited through the rain, Jack and the Skipper got into their flying suits.

The big moment had come.

In the excitement of the last minute preparations Kiwi had been missed, and although Dad asked several of the men about the plane if he had been seen, there were conflicting rumors. Some thought he had gone back to the hangars; others were not sure but that he had found shelter in one of the cars.

Precious minutes were passing. The Skipper felt that the time had come to go and that saying good-bye to Kiwi would be too much of an ordeal for him. So he turned to Bert and said huskily:

“Say ‘good-bye’ to Kiwi for me. I am trusting you to take good care of him. As far as I can see, everything has been provided for, and I know he will be safe in your hands.”

Fearing to trust himself to say more, he hurriedly shook hands with his close friends, gripped Billings’ hand hard and slapped him on the back. Then he climbed up into the cockpit, where Jack was already waiting, and the motor was started.

As the engine was warming up, the crowd could see through the glass window the Skipper laughing nervously at some remark of Jack’s. Then he opened the throttle and the huge engine made a tremendous uproar as he gave it a final try.

Billings stood at one side, his practised ear listening for the slightest skip in its measured beat.

The Skipper throttled back the engine, leaned out of the window, and motioned for Billings. As he came up, the Skipper said, “How does it sound? All right?”

Billings, who had listened to many engines in his day, who had seen many men trusting their lives to them, and who had heard that same question asked many times before, felt a lump rise in his throat as he realized the tremendous responsibility that rested upon him and upon his answer. He gulped hard, and then choked out, “All right, Captain—and the best of luck to you,” waved to Jack, and motioned to Cosgrave to pull out the chock from under the wheel on his side.

Billings and Cosgrave stepped back, and for a few momentsthat were awful in their suspense they waited for the flight to begin.

The engine opened up gradually, took hold, and the plane slowly started to roll along—the slow roll which was to start the Skipper and Jack off on an epoch-making flight that would carry them across the wide Atlantic, over the Mediterranean, and on to India. The engine had started, and for seventy hours it would have to keep up an uninterrupted flow of power.

The plane gathered speed, rocking gently as the tail left the ground.

Billings and Cosgrave had leaped onto the running-board of a fast car and were speeding after it, watching it gather momentum for the take-off.

Camera men took hurried pictures and scampered out of the path of the approaching plane.

The end of the runway was getting perilously near when the first sign of lift came. The Skipper was evidently coaxing her into the air, and the first lift was a bit too soon, for she settled back to the ground for a moment, seemed to gather new energy, and then rose surely from the field just as they reached the brink of a little ravine.

They were off!

In the early morning light the plane was hard to follow. It could faintly be seen lifting its way upward.

Other planes, now that the “Dauntless” was up, soared alongside the big ship as it carefully made a turn and headed for the east and the rising sun. The entire group came back over the field at an altitude of about a thousand feet.

The crowd hoped that there would be a last fluttering good-bye from the cockpit, but both men were too busy to do more than glance out.

The flight was on!

Billings and Cosgrave returned to the old hangar. Its vast emptiness oppressed them so that they could hardly speak. They would have to wait hours and hours to know what all their work would accomplish. They looked forward to the long wait with dread.

Bert came up in a car and asked if they had seen Kiwi. Surely by now he would have returned to the hangar. But no one had seen him since the rain storm that had seemed, for a time, to blot out the Skipper’s chances for a take-off. Bert hurried back to the other field with the hope that he might still be there.

In the small room at the back of the hangar, Connors was busy with his wireless set. With the earphones on he bent over his instruments at the table and tried to pick up the first message to come back from the plane. From time to time the click of his sending key could be heard through the partition.

Both Billings and Cosgrave were absentmindedly picking up the scattered evidences of the hurried departure from the hangar. They had closed the big doors, when Billings, very tense, suddenly swung around and confronted Cosgrave.

“Cosgrave, you and me have been working hard on this job for a long time now, and there have been times when I thought you were up to some crooked business. The plane is off and away. If anything happens to those boys that I can trace to you, I’m going to make you the sorriest man that ever walked onto this field.”

Cosgrave turned a bright red at all this, but said nothing for a few minutes, while Billings glowered at him. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he said:

“Well, Limey, I think I can trust you. I don’t want you to mention this to no one, but when I have told you I think you will understand.

“At the beginning I was offered money—and a lot of it—to try and stop, or postpone, this flight. I was in a jam and needed money, and I thought I could do something—nothing serious, you understand—that would look accidental. But the longer I worked for those two men, the more I realized that I couldn’t go through with it.

“Then when the Kiwi started flying with them and came so close to getting cracked up the time they lost the wheel, I phoned the people who were trying to buy me and said, ‘Nothing doing.’ And Billings, you can believe me or not, but since that time I have worked even harder than you to make this flight a success. There is nothing about that plane now, as far as I know, that isn’t in perfect condition.”

Billings felt his anger rise during Cosgrave’s confession,and for a little time he could think of nothing but punishing the man. With his jaw set hard, he looked straight into Cosgrave’s eyes, trying to see through to his very soul, to discover if all he had confessed was the truth. Cosgrave’s gaze never wavered, and Billings at last decided that Cosgrave had done no harm and all was right with the plane.

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