RIDING A HURRICANE.
"We did the trick in fine style," proclaimed Jimmy Stetson, at next
sight of the young aviators, "but twice we missed a mine by eyelash
length, and I warrant if we hadn't, your record of lofty travel would be
knocked in the head."
"We had some little experience ourselves," modestly advanced Billy.
The three boys, perched on a cracker box, compared notes until Jimmy was
called away by a submarine lieutenant.
"What is on our list to-day?"
Henri pretended to look for answer to his chum's question in a
worse-for-wear notebook.
"Only a dinner engagement," he gravely stated, "and that's four hours to
come."
"Here comes Lieutenant Moppa," observed Billy; "maybe he can prescribe
something besides a rest cure."
"You might suggest, Buddy, that we all go over and knock a chip off the
old town."
Henri was referring to Constantinople.
"Do your own suggesting," advised Billy, rising to greet the Russian
officer. "We were just talking, sir, about the effect of nothing-to-do
on the nerves."
"How long have you been at peace with yourselves and the world?"
laughingly queried the lieutenant.
"I think about nine hours now," replied Billy, looking at his battered
silver watch.
"You will be going to seed, I am sure, if this state of things
continues. By the way," continued the officer, "I was about to tell you
that the big airship is going into commission for a run around to the
Gulf of Enos, backing up the British move on the Turkish port there.
Heavy bombardment is already in progress, I am told, and we propose to
show our allies that all the shaking up of the enemy is not to be
performed by the land and water forces. As you know, we can put a choice
lot of bomb droppers into the game. The largest aeroplane in the world
did not come over here just for a show."
"Thought you were not going to make your move until the warships got
ready to break through the straits," interposed Billy.
"That is just it," said the lieutenant; "they are not in quite the shape
for the grand rush, and in the meantime I want to get in a helping
stroke wherever else I can. There is too much of the 'Sikorsky' to knock
about in these little scouting operations, but the kind of an engagement
now going on at Enos, I believe, is something nearer our size."
This talk was interrupted by terrific cannonading. Four British warships
had entered the Dardanelles and were shelling the Turkish forts--getting
vigorous response from the shore batteries.
The boys caught sight of Captain Johnson hustling for the water front,
and so apparent was their anxiety to get on the trail of their old
friend that the Russian officer told them to skip out, but on no account
to fail in reporting to him the following morning.
"Hold on there, my lads," called Josh Freeman, whose track they crossed,
and who also seemed to be answering an emergency summons, "Johnson isn't
going to start till I catch up, and maybe we will give you a lift."
For this very invitation the boys were hoping, and they immediately
reduced speed to correspond with the slower stride of the veteran
aviator.
"Ordered to signal work," announced the captain, as Josh and the boys
joined him.
"Who's up for pilots?" queried Freeman.
"The commander left the details to me," rejoined Johnson.
"We're 'it' then," declared Billy.
"You take a whole lot for granted," bantered the captain, with a wink at
Josh.
The young aviators had their way, for it was just the way that suited
Captain Johnson.
Hovering over the warships engaged in the bombardment, Johnson and
Freeman, as observers and signal scouts, by the flag code kept the range
finders on the gun decks apprised of the shots that told, as well as
those that were ineffective.
They also showed the sign of warning against the approach of several
Turkish torpedo boats, which were quickly turned by the hot reception
measures taken by the warship gunners.
Several times in the lower strata the circling biplanes were jarred and
dangerously shaken by the concussion of the tremendous gun-play.
On these occasions a rapid upshoot restored the fluttering flying
machines again to even keel.
For three or four hours the four daring aviators were aloft and running
the whole gamut of air perils attendant upon signal service over
cross-fire of big guns.
With the retirement of the cruisers came relief, and when Billy and
Henri got the word to backtrack they sent the machines along like two
streaks of lightning.
"That ought to hold you a day or two," grimly observed Captain Johnson,
stamping the kinks out of his legs on the landing place, and addressing
his young friends, who were also working off the strain by a vigorous
arm-rubbing.
"Another job in the morning," stated Billy, "and in a house on wings.
Come around and see us start, captain, you and Josh."
"Sure and we will," assured the captain, "for that Russian craft beats
all hollow, for size, any airship I ever saw."
A word that evening from Lieutenant Moppa cinched the belief that it was
a certain go, and Billy and Henri joined the other experts employed in
preparing for the flight of the mighty machine.
Lieutenant Atlass assumed the responsibility for the storage of the
explosives to be carried, and it can be stated that this officer had an
assignment of the utmost importance. If anything went wrong in the
magazines the travelers aboard the craft would never know what hurt
them.
Billy and Henri waved good-bye to Captain Johnson and Josh from the door
of the pilots' cabin on the "Sikorsky" and then set their grips on the
steering wheels as the starting signal was given. With the four engines
roaring, the great bird of passage soared over the sea.
By the compass, the course was set southwest, for the point at which the
expedition aimed is on that extreme quarter of the Turkish domain.
The first fighting viewed from the immense aeroplane was on and off the
Gallipoli peninsula, where warships of the allies were hot-shotting the
Turkish land positions.
But just about this time the barometer in the air pilot's cabin was the
center of attraction for the commanding officer and the wheelmen.
The indications were of decidedly ugly aspect, and storms in these parts
were notable for their violence.
"Hadn't we better take to the floats, lieutenant?" inquired Billy,
feeling new resistance in the wheel.
Moppa from the lookout seat noted the turbulence of the waves far below,
and shook his head.
"Better go higher," he directed.
The pilots set the planes for the ordered ascent. So fierce now were the
gusts against them that they were compelled to turn and ride with the
gale, which had, with awful suddenness, expanded in shrieking force. The
broadside for the few minutes presented, very near proved the drivers'
complete undoing, for the immense fabric could not be shifted with the
celerity of the lesser craft heretofore handled by the boys, and it
heeled over in a most alarming manner.
"Steady, lads," shouted the commanding officer, as Atlass and himself
lent helping hands in holding the pounding wheels.
"Steady it is, sir," cried Billy, like an old salt, and "steady" it was
when the craft beam-ended to the hurricane. But at what a speed! Two of
the engines were cut off to slow the propellers, yet nothing short of 90
miles to the hour was still maintained.
The sense of location was as speedily lost. So many deviations were
there in the cyclonic flight that the dancing compass needle lost its
value as a true guide.
It was a toss up whether the airship would bump into Athens or Smyrna,
if it did not before hit the bottom of the sea.
The pilots ever endeavored to keep the nose of the craft on the upturn,
in the hope of overriding the terror howling behind it. That they
succeeded to some extent had proof in a slight easing of the strain on
the steering gear.
"Still blowing like Sam Hill," exclaimed Henri, "but the wrench isn't
near as strong as it was."
The four at the wheels were dripping with perspiration from their
muscle-racking experience. The balance of the company of nine men, with
the exception of the engineer, were huddled in a bunch in the
"corridor."
About everything movable on the airship was scattered about the deck.
Atlass had many a dark thought regarding the explosives, and, no doubt,
as many times thanked his stars that he had done a thorough job of
packing.
He had more than once exchanged glances with Moppa when a particularly
violent vibration was felt in the vessel. They were both thinking alike,
and of the magazines.
As the storm died away and the sea no longer leaped in wild waves, the
pilots essayed a cautious descent, by slow degrees. The compass showed
the movement due south, but there was nothing to convince as to how far
south.
No land was visible to the naked eye, but Lieutenant Moppa, having
resumed lookout duty, announced that with his binocle he perceived a
faint blue line in direction directly ahead.
"Ease her off a point or two," he commanded, "and hold this course
without change." With a second thought, he further ordered: "Let Mowbray
and Gault take the wheels. You boys will be dead on your feet if you do
not quit for a while."
Billy and Henri rather reluctantly relinquished their guiding posts,
though, if the truth be known, both were rather shaky in the legs.
The new pilots, however, had plain sailing, and the boys felt that they
had done their full duty, and more, when it had really counted for
something.
Sailing lower and lower, the big airship, with driving force reduced to
one engine, slowly approached a strip of land in the sea, now quite
plainly visible to the crew.
There were military forces assembled on this ground, and it was Henri
who first distinguished their nationality, when close enough to
distinguish color. Blue tunics and red trousers--that was enough,
without waiting to set eyes on the top display of red kepis, surmounted
by the familiar tri-color cockade and ball.
"They're French!" he shouted. "The real thing. Vive, La France!"
The port was Mudros, on Lemnos island, in the Ægean sea, where 35,000
French and British soldiers had just landed.
"Descend."
With the command the pilots lowered the "Sikorsky" to the water level.
"Vive, La France!"
Henri's exulting shout was heard again as a boat shot out from the shore
to meet the gigantic aeroplane drifting in on its polished floats.