THE BRIGHTON BOYS SERIES
BY
LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE FLYING CORPS
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE TRENCHES
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE BATTLE FLEET
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE RADIO SERVICE
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE SUBMARINE FLEET
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE ENGINEERS AT CANTIGNY
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
AT CHATEAU-THIERRY
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
AT ST. MIHIEL
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE ARGONNE
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE SUBMARINE TREASURE SHIP
[Illustration: SHE SETTLED INTO A SWIFT AND DISASTROUS NOSE DIVE.]
The BRIGHTON BOYS in Transatlantic Flight
BY
LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL
ILLUSTRATED
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
Copyright, 1920, by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. WAITING FOR THE HOP-OFF 9
II. ARRIVAL OF A STRANGER 22
III. TREACHERY AFOOT 39
IV. THE TAMPERER CAPTURED 51
V. STARTLING REPORTS 63
VI. NEW WAR CLOUDS 83
VII. SUMMONED TO WASHINGTON 92
VIII. "DELIVER THESE AT PARIS" 101
IX. OFF TO EUROPE 111
X. PURSUED BY AN ENEMY PLANE 118
XI. IN THE TEETH OF A HURRICANE 126
XII. DESPERATE HASTE 135
XIII. THE BATTLE IN THE CLOUDS 144
XIV. DESTRUCTION OF THE ENEMY 152
XV. FUEL FROM A TANKER 160
XVI. A MATTER OF HOURS 169
XVII. THE TEN-MILE GLIDE 175
XVIII. A RUNAWAY PLANE 185
XIX. THE SLEEP-WALKER 196
XX. KIDNAPED 206
XXI. THE ARRIVAL IN PARIS 217
XXII. WORLD PEACE ASSURED 222
ILLUSTRATIONS
SHE SETTLED INTO A SWIFT, DISASTROUS NOSE DIVE _Frontispiece_
PAGE
LIKE A WHIRLWIND HE CAME AT HIS ANTAGONIST 74
"ASK THEM THEIR POSITION NOW," THE GENERAL SNAPPED OUT 125
IN A WIDE CIRCLE THE PLANE WAS BROUGHT TO THE SURFACE 165
The Brighton Boys in Transatlantic Flight
CHAPTER I
WAITING FOR THE HOP-OFF
"Br-r-r-r, but this is a chilly section of the map!"
The speaker was Jack Carew--Big Jack Carew, they had called him at
Brighton. The descriptive prefix had clung to him throughout all the
changes and vicissitudes of the Great War, and the indications were now
that he would continue to be known as Big Jack Carew through the balance
of his natural life.
And well he deserved the cognomen, for as he stood in the doorway of the
little shack-like building in which he and his three comrades had spent
their first night in Halifax, he showed up well over six feet in height,
with a depth of chest and breadth of shoulder which bespoke tremendous
strength and almost unlimited physical endurance.
Indeed, it was a fact well known to scores of men that but for Carew's
possession of these two qualities, coupled with his timely arrival at a
desolate and isolated spot in northern France one bitterly cold night
in January, 1918, Donald Harlan would not have been alive to be in
Newfoundland now as a member of the American crew which Carew captained,
and which was even now making ready for participation in the first
Transatlantic aeroplane contest.
The story was a somewhat old one now, but Harlan himself never tired of
giving his big chum full credit for having saved his life. Harlan had
been in battle with a Hun plane, and although he had come off
victorious, he had sustained such damage to his own machine that he was
compelled to make a speedy landing in which the law of gravity figured
more prominently than did his own control over wings, elevators and
rudder. The inevitable result was a smash-up, with Harlan on the very
bottom of the débris. There he had lain for four hours, barely
conscious, half frozen, and bleeding from a dozen serious cuts, when Big
Jack Carew, out on a lone reconnoitering expedition afoot, had by the
merest accident come upon him.
It was five miles from that spot to the nearest dressing station, and it
was partly enemy territory at that; but Carew had carried the injured
man the entire distance in no more time than it would have taken the
ordinary unburdened man to do it, and the surgeons had said afterward
that it was only this quick rescue work that had prevented a loss of
blood which would have cost Donald Harlan his life.
No wonder that Big Jack Carew was admired, respected, loved by all who
knew him, and especially so by the three other men who made up his crew.
As he stood now, after his abrupt appearance and brief remark about the
Halifax weather, silhouetted in the open doorway by the meager
Newfoundland dawn, the trio of lads within the one-room building looked
up suddenly from their respective tasks with smiling nods of greeting.
Fred Bentner, the wizard wireless operator, who had won his right to
that title by his many feats of efficiency with the radio key and
earpiece, was for the fiftieth time reinspecting an expensive and
highly-prized fleece-lined leather coat which had been presented to him
just before the crew had left the States for the bleak Newfoundland
shore from which the flight was scheduled to start.
A few feet away Don Harlan was down on his hands and knees, cramped into
a most uncomfortable position, almost exhausted from blowing an
auxiliary draft into the grate of a balky stove, on which Andy Flures
with equal difficulty and no greater success was endeavoring to fry four
husky portions of ham and eggs.
Harlan was the navigator of the American crew, while jolly Andy Flures
was alternate pilot with Big Jack. The four of them made a most happy
and congenial group, and at the same time an aggregation of experienced
birdmen to give just cause for anxiety to the contestants of any other
nationality.
"Hey, you!" Donald commanded, when he had sufficiently recovered from
his arduous efforts to talk. "No charge for admission, you know. Come
inside and shut the door. Permit me to give you my place. You've got
more lung power than I have; maybe you can put the spark of life into
this stove. If I may be pardoned for the perpetration of an innocent
pun, you may thereby blow us all to a substantial refreshment of
'ham-and.'"
He arose and, with a most stately bow and wave of the hand, proffered
the position of honor and place of official stove-blower to his
erstwhile rescuer.
"Nothing doing," responded the huge Carew, with good-natured emphasis.
"I'm no blow-hard."
Nevertheless he immediately dropped his heavy bulk to where Donald's
most persuasive puffing had failed to stir the fire to even the faintest
indications of enthusiasm.
"Say," queried Big Jack, when he had taken a long and judicial squint
into the dull glow within the grate, "what are you trying to burn in
this stove--asbestos? Pity you three poor weaklings couldn't even get a
breakfast while I'm doing the early bird stuff, out scouting for the
real news."
With which he settled himself in place for the first gusty blast at the
grate.
"What is the news? Did you get any? Don't be selfish about it--let the
rest of us hear it," they fired at him, almost in unison.
Carew merely grunted. His expanding chest burst a button from his coat,
and it went bouncing across the floor to a further corner of the room.
He was getting ready to go into action, was Big Jack Carew, and he never
did anything half-heartedly.
"What'd you get?" demanded Donald Harlan again, impatient to know of the
slightest hint or tip or bit of speculative gossip that might throw the
least light upon the all-important question of when they might start
upon the first aeroplane journey ever attempted across the Atlantic.
But he had scarcely uttered the query when there was a miniature
explosion like the blowout of a 35x5 automobile tire under ninety pounds
pressure, followed by a very audible grunt and a reflex cloud of cinders
and ashes which for the moment entirely enveloped and obscured the
tremendous proportions of Big Jack Carew. The first sound thereafter was
a muffled gasp from that person; and when finally the ash cloud had
sufficiently settled, the first view the other youths had of Carew he
was pawing viciously at eyes, nose and ears with both hands.
"What'd I get?" he repeated, in genuine bad humor for the moment. "I got
gas and liquid fire all in one. Don't ask me what I got. Can't you see!
I think somebody touched a match to old Vesuvius. Here, one of you
fellows pump this old stove. I give it too much energy."
But as he found that he still retained the vision of both eyes, that he
could hear as well as ever, and could even breathe through his nose,
although with some difficulty, his natural good nature asserted itself
and he joined in the no-wise gentle guffaws of Andy Flures and the
milder laughter of the other two.
"Holy smoke is right," Jack ejaculated; and then, improvising:
"Ashes to ashes,
And dust to dust,
If the Huns don't get you
An old stove must."
Nevertheless, despite his unpleasant experience, Carew's efforts had
been successful, and he had, indeed, imparted the spark of life to the
fire. It was now crackling and blazing right merrily, to the
accompanying sizzle of the frying ham and eggs. And in five more minutes
the four young men were seated at table, putting those same ham and eggs
beyond hope of redemption. There was nothing whatever the matter with
their appetites.
"Well, you haven't yet told us what you learned while you were out
scouting around this morning," Fred Bentner prompted Big Jack.
"Nothing definite, of course," Carew replied. "But everybody's here,
ready and anxious for the hop-off. The Henryson people are awfully
confident of the staying powers of their single-engine machine; and the
Falcon crew is just as strong for that type. But I want to tell you that
for both speed and endurance, as well as for safety and emergencies, I
believe our dual motor hydro has got them all topped, and that, all
other things being equal, we'll beat them to it when the real contest
comes."
"Righto!" echoed Andy Flures.
"And may that not long be delayed," added Donald Harlan.
"Were you down to the freight station?" Fred asked, seeming naturally to
take the rôle of interrogator.
"Yes, and there is some stuff there for us that came in during the
night," Carew answered. "But I doubt whether our elevator will get here
before tomorrow. However, there isn't any real rush, and I think we did
the right thing in deciding to risk that delay in order to have that
light copper binding put on. The stress of a sudden storm may prove its
value."
"Sure," Donald supplemented. "No room for argument about that. But we
don't want to let any other crew get the jump on us at that. There's an
awful lot of satisfaction in being the first off, or at least to be
among the first."
"I don't think any other crew will be able to make a get-away before we
are ready," Jack assured them. "Why, I was talking to a native a while
ago on that very subject. He doesn't pretend to know anything about
aeronautics. He's been a whaler all his life. But he does set himself up
as something of a weather sharp, and after having listened to him for
quite a time I'm more than half inclined to believe that he knows what
he is talking about. Weather prognostications seem to be a natural
instinct with whalers, you know, and with this fellow you might call it
a sixth sense."
"Well, what did he say?" Don interrupted.
"That we wouldn't get away before the end of this week, anyway, and
likely not until the middle of next, if then," Jack finished.
"Yes," said Andy, "the mud's so deep in front of two of the hangars that
there isn't a chance of running the machines out until it has dried off
a great deal."
"Well, the ham and eggs being gone, I'm through," interjected Fred.
"Let's all hustle down to the _dee-po_ and see what Santa Claus left us
during the night. I'm anxious to get our craft together, and
particularly to make some necessary final tests with the radio
apparatus."
"Right!" agreed Jack, surveying the table rather ruefully and becoming
convinced that Fred was right about there being no more ham and eggs.
"And don't make any mistakes about that wireless, either, Fred," he
continued, as they all shoved back their chairs. "I've got all sorts of
confidence in our plane, but nevertheless it would be nice to realize
that we could let the world at large know our approximate whereabouts in
case we should come down in old Father Neptune's lap, somewhere in about
the dead center of the Atlantic."
"It'll be as right as every other part of our vehicle when we start,"
the wireless expert assured them; and with that they set off for the
freight station.
A short distance down the street they encountered Henryson, the
Norwegian pilot of a giant single-motor machine of great horsepower, and
known to be capable of tremendous speed. Never a popular fellow,
Henryson's cocksureness in the present contest made him more than ever
disliked by his competitors in the approaching flight.
The others would have passed him with merely a nod of greeting, but
Henryson showed a disposition toward conversation, and they had no
alternative within the bounds of courtesy but to stop.
"Willing to put down a little money to make this flight interesting?" he
asked, addressing himself particularly to Big Jack Carew.
"Nope, never bet," Carew replied good-naturedly. "But we'll make it
interesting, all right, once we get started. You may be assured of
that."
"Sort of proud, eh?" Henryson suggested, evidently intent upon being as
nasty as possible.
"No, not proud, but awfully confident," Jack responded quietly, but with
a note of distinct warning in his tone.
Henryson's answer was almost a sneer. "There are several ways of making
things interesting," and he strode on past.
"I'll wager he's one of the meanest men in Canada," said Fred Bentner,
turning to look after Henryson.
"Wonder what he meant by that last remark," added Don. "Sounded like a
veiled threat to me."
"Huh," said Big Jack. "I guess there's no cause for alarm. Barking dogs
seldom bite, you know."
They continued on to the freight station and there found that
practically their entire equipment had arrived, and that they now had
before them a day to be devoted almost entirely to getting their plane
together, to be followed by all sorts of strength and endurance tests.
To the former task they applied themselves just as soon as the parts
could be transferred from the station to their hangar, and throughout
the ensuing hours there was the most enthusiastic energy, not only among
our friends from Brighton, but as well in the immediate vicinity of
every other hangar.
Crowds witnessed the eager preparations that were going forward for the
first attempt at crossing the Atlantic through the air; while by
automobile truck and dray, tons upon tons of fuel and oil were being
brought up to the point where the machines soon would take on the fuel,
lubricants, food, etc., necessary to the flight.
By nightfall the giant two-motor combination hydro-aeroplane was
practically completed, and Big Jack announced that they would begin
putting aboard oil and petrol that night, preparatory to complete
tryouts the following morning. These things done, and the crew would be
ready for its long fly across the ocean just as soon as sufficient
tonnage of fuel and oil were aboard.
"Well, it's coming close to the finals, anyway," announced Carew as they
knocked off work and went to their shack for supper. "By this time
tomorrow night, barring accidents or such weather as would prevent
tests, we will be ready for the start. How about the wireless, Fred?"
"All set up, ready for the most exacting experiments tomorrow," the
radio expert replied.
Just as he was speaking, Henryson passed by. He looked at the group, but
did not say a word.
"I wish that fellow would stay out of my sight," said Donald Harlan
impatiently. "I don't like his face."
Big Jack laughed deprecatingly, but nevertheless he, too, turned to look
after the Norwegian, whose words and manner had caused a sort of
uneasiness with all of the lads.
"All I've got to say," said Andy Flures, "is that he had better mind his
own business or we'll make it hot, as well as interesting, for him and
his crew."