THE _ANCLOTE_ MAKES A FLIGHT
Even now the _Anclote_, as the Boy Aeronauts’ Club aeroplane soon came
to be known, may be considered old-fashioned. But when Bob Balfour and
Tom Allen bought her and shipped her to the scene of her first flight
over the orange groves, palm trees and limitless swamps of mid-Florida,
the _Anclote_ represented the best ideas of not less than three of the
most practical and scientific of the first aviators. These, of course,
were the Wright Brothers, Curtiss and Farman.
The motor was a Curtiss 25-horsepower, with 1400 revolutions per
minute, while the propellers were exact copies of Farman’s, with
a spread of 7½ feet. The guiding rudders were patterned after the
well-tested form used by the Wrights――the forward or vertical one 15½
feet long by 3 feet wide, while the two horizontal guides in the rear
were 5½ feet high by 1 foot wide. The entire length of the planes was
38 feet 4 inches, while the sections connecting the two planes were 6
feet deep and 5 feet high.
The rubber-faced silk plane surfaces were attached in the manner of
the Curtiss machine, stretched over laminated spruce ribs, at intervals
of a little over a foot and then wrapped around the front cross bars of
the wing frames and kept taut at the rear by wire edgings drawn tight
over each rib end.
Instead of landing and starting skids as used on the Wright machine,
Type No. 1 carried a running gear of four light pneumatic tired wheels
mounted in ordinary bicycle forks. A spoon brake applied by a bamboo
plunger to the tire of the front wheels permitted quick stopping after
alighting and held the machine for the start.
Thursday evening, Bob worked until a late hour, sending Gabe home for
his supper, and awaiting his return. When the tired boy reached the
hotel, he found a message that at once dispelled his fatigue――Captain
Joe had reached port with the _Three Sisters_, and he had left word
where he could be found.
When Bob left the hotel, he found Jerry Blossom anxiously pacing before
the entrance awaiting him. The colored boy was so full of remarkable
incidents and marvelous adventures that it was with difficulty that the
white boy calmed him into a clear account of the cruise.
The _Three Sisters_ had made a safe voyage to the island, which it
reached early Tuesday morning. After a half day’s reconnoitering, it
had found a sheltered bay on the land side of the north key, and there,
in a grove of cabbage palmettoes, a landing had been made and a camp
located.
The camp was immediately marked by stripping a tall palmetto and
attaching to its barren summit, the schooner’s flag. The camp outfit
having been disembarked, all had worked on the camp site during the
day, and, leaving Mac in command, Captain Joe and Jerry had sailed for
Tampa the next morning. On their way to the wharf and the schooner,
Bob, in the midst of Jerry’s grandiloquent account of the beauties of
Anclote Island, said to the colored boy:
“Well, Jerry, did you find it? Locate your buried treasure trees yet?”
“Look hyah, Mistah Bob,” answered Jerry, with sudden alarm, “yo’ know
what Ah done gone an’ done? Ah’s had a piece o’ mighty bad luck. Ah
cain’t fine mah papah no mo’.”
“You don’t mean to say you’ve lost the directions for finding ole
Black Pirate’s treasure box?” asked Bob in pretended alarm.
“No, sah, Mistah Bob. Ah ain’t los’ it. Ah’s too keerful o’ dat writin’
to los’ it. No, sah, not me. Somepin done come in de night an’ tooken
dat paper. Yas, sah. I ain’t los’ it.”
“Can’t you remember what you wrote?” asked Bob threateningly.
“Sure, I kin, mostly. But not prezactly. Pears to me now like it didn’t
say no island at all. Mebbe if Ah has time to recomembah, Ah kin――”
“Look here, Jerry,” exclaimed Bob vigorously. “If you don’t recall
those directions and take me where old Black Pirate told you he buried
all his gold and silver and diamonds, you’re goin’ to walk back
home――or swim. You’re lyin’ to me, Jerry.”
“Mistah, Bob,” cried Jerry in a sudden panic, “Ah cross mah heart Ah
ain’t tell no story. Mah ma she don’t ’low me to tell no lies.”
“You wrote old Black Pirate’s directions on a piece of paper?”
“Yas, sah, Mistah Bob.”
“What kind of paper?”
“Jes’ reg’lah papah.”
Without relaxing his face in the least, Bob said:
“Jerry, I’ll give you till Saturday night to remember the directions or
find the paper. If you can’t do either, we’ll leave you on the island
when we go home.”
“Mistah Bob,” wailed Jerry, “yo’ don’ know how sorry Ah is ’bout dat
papah. Mebbe de ole pirate wif de sword done change his min’ an’ sneak
up on me and taken back what he tole.”
“Saturday night,” said Bob, sternly.
The two boys walked on in silence a moment. Finally the solemn Jerry,
screwing his face into a look of pain, said:
“Mistah Bob, Ah’s feelin’ purty porely this evenin’. Ah got a kind o’
misery in mah back. Ah reckon Ah bes’ go git some med’cine.”
“Well?” said Bob, still keeping a straight face.
“Ah ain’t got no change. A reckon yo’ all couldn’t lend me fo’ bits
till Ah gits to mah bank?”
“I reckon you’re right, Jerry. I could, but I won’t. You come on
down to the schooner, and turn in, and your misery will be all right
to-morrow.”
Bob found the taciturn Captain Joe enjoying his pipe in the cockpit
of the schooner, and silently watching an odorous coffee pot simmering
on the charcoal brazier. With the weather beaten seaman, he enjoyed an
hour’s talk, and after a cup or two of Romano’s black beverage, gave
directions for the next day, and returned to his hotel.
That day and the day before, the merchant from whom Bob had rented the
old factory had visited the scene of the setting up. It was probably
from this source that news of the aeroplane leaked out. Anyway,
when Bob returned to the hotel, he found a reporter awaiting him.
Remembering the exaggeration of the Pensacola reporter, Bob resolved to
give no excuse for guesswork, and told briefly what the club meant to
do.
To Bob’s relief, the reporter told the truth in his next morning’s
story. Like as not the mere fact that a real aeroplane was ready for
flight in Tampa was enough of a sensation for the young journalist. It
certainly brought a mob to the factory that day. When Bob arrived, Gabe
was struggling valiantly to control the good-natured sight-seers. And
the crush grew worse as the day advanced. Gabe was finally sent for
police assistance, and by noon, the immediate vicinity of the delicate
airship was cleared.
Tom and Hal were due to arrive on the noon train that day. A little
before that hour, Bob sent his few camp belongings down to the _Three
Sisters_. Then, his mother accompanying him to the station in a
carriage, the pretty well exhausted youngster awaited his fellow club
members.
When the dust covered train drew into the station, a half hour late,
Bob, worn out with the exertions and strain of the past five days, was
sound asleep, his head on his mother’s shoulder. Jerry Blossom met Tom
and Hal and piloted them through the hot sun to the carriage. Mrs.
Balfour’s smile and raised finger suppressed the chatter of the newly
arrived boys, and, with many whispers and chuckles, piling their suit
cases alongside the driver and mounting Jerry on top of the bags, the
other boys quietly took seats in front of the unconscious Bob and his
mother.
But the creaky old carriage had not progressed over a block when Bob
roused himself with a snort. Then, even in the excitement of the
greeting, the alert eyed Bob noticed that the carriage was bound
cityward.
“We ought to be on the way to the cigar factory. Where are we going?”
he exclaimed anxiously. “It’s nearly one o’clock.”
“To luncheon, of course,” answered his mother. “You boys haven’t eaten,
have you?”
They had not. Neither did they seem anxious to do so.
“Luncheon, your granny,” protested Bob. “Those who go on the aeroplane
can eat with Mac in the camp at two o’clock. The fellow that stays is
going to have crab gumbo with Captain Joe――that’s all figured out.”
“Who is to go?” asked Mrs. Balfour laughing. “I suppose _you’ll_ insist
on going,” she added, turning to her son.
“Oh, that’s all arranged,” interrupted Hal Burton. “My turn’ll come
later. Bob’s the real works, and Tom is the understudy.”
“Yo’ ain’t objectin’ are you, Madam?” broke in Tom quickly.
“I gave up long ago,” answered Mrs. Balfour, with a half sigh and a
half laugh. “But Bob had better hurry before the story printed this
morning reaches Chicago. They always put in names, you know, and the
newspapers up there are sure to call up Mr. Balfour and ask if Bob is
his son. You know what that will mean?”
“Turn around there,” ordered Bob, hanging out of the carriage and
calling to the driver. “It’ll mean a telegram knocking everything into
a cocked hat. That’s what comes of telling folks things.”
The appearance of the carriage at the old factory seemed instantly to
augment the number of those lounging there. Mrs. Balfour and Tom and
Hal were escorted to the waiting aeroplane for their first view of the
marvelous machine. And Bob was certainly proud of his work.
Temporarily braced on planks, the wide, fragile planes of the _Anclote_
shimmered beneath the direct sun like the glisten of some great
golden-brown beetle. Its aluminum painted, spruce section uprights
flashed in the sunlight, while the varnished, polished blades of
the propellers reached out like golden arms. For the benefit of his
visitors, Bob nodded to Gabe, and the engine was set in motion. Its
unconnected mechanism moved as if in a bath of oil. Even the powerful
propellers were turned a few times, slowly. Then Mrs. Balfour was even
persuaded to mount the aviator’s chair for a moment.
“Take Mother back to the hotel, Hal,” exclaimed Bob, as he helped his
parent to alight, “and then you and Jerry get busy. It’s moonlight
to-night. You ought to get to the island by one o’clock. We’ll be
waitin’ for you. You can go now, Mother,” added Bob, kissing her good
bye. “I’ll see you in a week.”
“I’ll wait,” answered Mrs. Balfour with a half nervous smile. “I’ll see
it through since I’ve let it go this far.”
With that, the three long restrained boys forgot the crowd. For ten
minutes, Bob and Gabe rushed back and forth between the storeroom and
the car. The gasoline reservoir was charged to the limit, and the
extra tank made fast in the middle of the engine section. The engine
was newly oiled, the magnetos tested, the rudder rods examined for
the last time, and then Tom received his final instructions. At that,
the supporting planks were withdrawn and the _Anclote_, poised on her
starting wheels, was ready for its flight.
If those waiting with open mouths to see the ascent expected a
ceremony, they were disappointed. The beginning of the flight was as
simple as it was successful. As Bob set the motor in motion, he clamped
the spoon brake on the starting wheels. Then, as the clutch caught the
big propellers and their arms began to revolve, he gave a last glance
at his mother, Hal and Jerry.
The propeller blades moved faster and faster. Even as Bob raised his
cap, they seemed to spring to terrific speed. Pushing against the
set starting wheels, the light framework suddenly shook and creaked,
and, almost before Bob could realize it, the great planes twisted and
fluttered as if striving to drag the car forward. Bob’s cap dropped
from his hand, and, grasping the rudder levers, he shot his foot
against the brake release.
Like a quail beating its wings against the ground as it rushes to its
scared flight, the trembling aeroplane darted forward. The forward
rudder was already set for the coming rise. As Bob threw this up, the
skimming car seemed to slacken speed. If it really did so, it was
but for a second. With a keener note in the whirr of the now almost
invisible propeller, there was a farewell bump of the wheels on the
slope, and then, like a flat skimming stone ducking over the water, the
_Anclote_ left the ground.
Once only did Bob falter. In his inexperience, he had set the forward
rudder too high. Like a bird not yet under full momentum, the
aeroplane shook herself and stuck her nose skyward. As the nervous
young aviator threw his rudder down, he did not check himself in time.
There was one sickening dart toward the water of the Hillsborough
River, the starting wheels spun backward with a splash of mist, the
feet of both boys made one angry splash in the water, and then the
worst was over. Gripping his levers and clenching his teeth, Bob
righted the rudder, and, by the roar of cheers that rose behind him, he
knew that he was ascending again, even before his increasing altitude
showed it.
Until the fading aeroplane was only a speck in the northwest, Mrs.
Balfour, Hal and Jerry stood, watching it in silence. At last, it was
no longer visible, and Mrs. Balfour turned to leave.
“Mrs. Balfah,” said Jerry Blossom in a business-like voice, “Ah comed
away in sich a hurry Ah done forgit to bring any change. Kin yo’ borrow
me fo’ bits till Ah sees mah bankah?”