THE TEN-MILE GLIDE
If Don Harlan was in all normal times, and under all natural conditions,
a most excellent and trustworthy aerial navigator, as in fact all the
other members of this crew knew from experience that he was, so also was
he human, and, therefore, subject to human errors. Certainly in the
present situation this was not to be unexpected, for he and the others
not only had undergone a most extraordinary series of the most harrowing
experiences, in rapid-fire succession, but in addition they were
nerve-tired and physically fagged for the want of sleep.
They did not reach or even sight Ireland within the predicted six hours,
but long before that time they did something which, in view of
subsequent events and the demands they put upon the men for every ounce
of their courage and ingenuity, proved to be a most excellent thing.
It was Jack's suggestion--or rather, his orders.
"Fred and Don," he had said, immediately after the sending of the
wireless, to be relayed to the President, "it's plain sailing now and we
won't need either one of you. Both of you curl up somewhere out of the
way and take three hours sleep. At the end of that time we'll call you,
you two can take charge for the next three hours while Andy and I
snooze, and we'll all feel better and more capable for the rest."
None knew at that time how valuable that recuperation, brief as it was,
would prove to be.
Under the circumstances and the program which called for an equal
division between the four of them of the rest period, it hadn't taken
Fred and Don more than two minutes to follow the advice. For three hours
they lay like logs, stretched out side by side on the floor of the
nacelle, snoring so lustily as to seem to be in competition with the
steady throbbing of the engines.
True to promise, at the end of that time Jack awakened them, and, when
they had recovered their dulled wits, they took charge while Jack and
Andy almost instantly dropped into a heavy sleep.
Another three hours and they were brought back to life, but still there
was no sight of land.
Jack got out the binoculars, as soon as he had gotten the "sand" out of
his eyes, for what he termed a "squint" before again taking his place in
the pilot's seat.
Just as, hours before, their forward rush had brought the night to them,
so now their speed was irresistibly drawing the dawn toward them. Jack
held the glasses to his eyes for a moment, then rubbed his eyes
vigorously and looked again.
Of a sudden he gave a great whoop, and slapped Don on the back with a
force that nearly sent him off his feet.
"Land, gol darn you," Jack shouted for the benefit of all. "Land ahoy,
as they say aboard ship!"
"What's that?" demanded Andy, regarding it as news too good to be true.
"Let me have a peep through those binoculars. You may be seeing things."
"I am," Jack admitted joyously, handing over the glasses. "I'm seeing
Ireland, or my name's not Jack Carew."
"Sure as you live," agreed Andy, beaming on the others.
"Well, none too soon," Don interrupted, turning a serious face upon
them. "I didn't want to hurry you fellows out of your sleep, seeing that
you gave us three hours, but I want to tell you that even now we're
pretty nearly up against it. Look at that!"
He pointed at the petrol gauge. It registered only enough, at their
average rate of consumption, to carry them two-thirds of the estimated
distance to where the welcome shores of Ireland hove dimly into sight in
the distance.
"Climb out!" Jack ordered peremptorily. "You too," indicating Fred.
He climbed into his own seat, and motioned Andy into the other.
Without another word they began a long climb, the pounding of the
engines indicating the extra pressure they were called upon to meet, the
tilt of the plane indicating a sustained angle that was taking them
onward but up, up, up.
Don stood directly behind Big Jack, his eye fastened upon the altimeter
on the instrument board. Slowly, surely, unwaveringly, it was being
pushed around the dial. It registered eight thousand feet, nine, ten,
eleven, twelve.
He turned a questioning glance at Fred, who was likewise engaged, but
not a word was spoken.
Their glance turned to the petrol gauge, which Big Jack and Andy were
watching as closely as they were the indications of their steadily
increasing altitude. It showed an equally steady depletion as the
engines literally ate up the now almost priceless fuel.
Don, his attention now turned to this instrument, saw it going down,
down, down, even as the plane continued on its upward climb. Even yet
the real significance of Jack's intention had not fully dawned upon him.
The fuel was by now dangerously low. Once Don thought he heard one of
the engines "skip," and his heart skipped a beat in consequence. He
looked again at the altimeter. Fifteen thousand feet! And still the
plane was climbing, its angle unaltered.
He grabbed the binoculars and gazed out toward the coast, now scarcely
any nearer the plane by actual distance, but much nearer from a plumb
line which might have been dropped from the plane. He estimated that
they were as yet about fifteen miles out to sea.
And still the machine climbed. He turned again to the altimeter,
fascinated by this great contest between the wits of man and the natural
elements.
Eighteen thousand feet, and the needle, still continuing its circle of
the dial, registered nineteen thousand before he could tear his glance
away.
Bang! Sput, sput! Bang!
One of the engines was missing audibly. The petrol indicator now
registered almost nothing. The altimeter needle was just flirting with
the point marking twenty thousand feet.
Jack for the first time took his eyes from a straightaway upward course
and gazed about him--principally outward and downward toward the Irish
coast.
The petrol gauge registered nothing noticeable and both engines were
firing now at interrupted intervals only, and the propellers were
spinning in jerky uneven response to the queer spurts of power shot to
them from the well-nigh exhausted engines.
Jack grabbed the petrol pump, and with a few sudden lusty jerks sent the
remaining dregs of fuel into the engines. They responded nobly with what
little ammunition they got, and with this power the plane gave a loop,
like a scenic railway car taking a hump, and what had been the upward
angle was reversed.
The ingenious purpose was now apparent. The throttles were closed
because there was no longer any use in keeping them open. Jack was
trying the only course that had been left open to them. He had mounted
to the greatest possible height with what little fuel they had left,
while still continuing their eastward direction.
They were now on a great ten-mile downward glide which was their only
hope of reaching somewhere near the coast line. How successful they were
in this depended now upon the skill with which the captain-pilot used
the plane's momentum.
Although with no propelling power whatever, they rapidly gathered a
terrific speed. When this had reached a point where it threatened to
tear the wings or rudder loose, Jack lifted her to an almost horizontal
course, and the plane sailed along for more than a mile before it became
necessary to again turn her nose down to gather increased momentum. When
this was had the same process was repeated.
How good a pilot Jack was, this situation would develop. They had come
perhaps five miles nearer the shore line now, and they were still some
twelve or thirteen thousand feet in the air. A swift glance at the
altimeter and barometer assuring him of this fact, and Jack permitted
himself a smile which gave heart and renewed courage to each of the
other three.
"We'll make it easy if nothing gives way," he said.
Again they were gathering a speed even more terrible than that which had
marked the first stage of their descent. When the plane was "brought to"
again, it sailed landward for nearly two miles.
They were now only eight thousand feet up, and the distance to shore was
probably three or three and a half miles. Jack decided to give them a
little sensation. He pointed the nose of the craft directly at where the
waves broke into little rollers on the shore, and let her go.
Don, sticking his head out of a window of the nacelle for an instant,
thought that the top of his anatomy had been lifted off. Involuntarily
he put his hand up to see if his scalp was still there.
Down, down, down they rushed, and still no alteration in their course.
They were about a thousand yards from the shore line, and approximately
the same distance above the water, when Jack altered course, came to an
almost horizontal position, executed a long arc and then, with the
decreased speed, gradually dropped and at the same time swerved gently
shoreward. Three minutes later, and without a propeller turning, without
any aid whatever toward bringing them to a stop or impelling them
forward, they came to the surface and to a standstill in a
shoal-protected section of comparatively still water, two hundred feet
from shore.
"Greatest piece of work I ever saw," exclaimed Don enthusiastically,
grasping Jack's hand.
"The principal thing is that we did it, and here we are on European
soil," said Jack, as, having already sounded the depth with a rope and
sinker, and finding it less than three feet, he stepped overboard to
wade ashore.
The others followed. From the solid ground of Ireland they looked back
on the brave craft which had brought them there. A murmur of
thanksgiving welled from each heart.
"We'll get a caretaker, and then be off on the last leg of our
journey," Jack announced, as they trudged off up the incline toward
where they believed they would find friendly welcome and perhaps a hot
breakfast.