THE FLIGHT OF THE "SILVER COBWEB."
A week rolled slowly by. A week of suspense, during which they had one or
two calls from Lieut. Bradbury, who had been busy down at the Mortlake
plant. But the officer was naturally noncommittal concerning his opinion
of the comparative merits of the two types of aeroplanes. Equally
naturally, of course, the young Prescotts had not questioned him
concerning them.
But during this week they had had a glimpse of the Mortlake machine in
flight. One still, breathless morning, the air had been filled, soon after
dawn, with a vibrant buzzing sound, which Peggy's trained ear had
recognized as the song of an aeroplane engine.
She hastened to her brother's room and rapped upon the door. In reply to
his sleepy query, the girl rapidly told him of what she had heard. Roy's
window faced on the road, and a glance satisfied him that the Mortlake
machine was to have its first try-out. Hastily as he dressed, however, he
found that Peggy was before him on the dewy lawn, field glasses in hand.
Down the road could be seen, in front of the Mortlake plant, a small crowd
of mechanics with one or two dominant figures moving among them. With the
glasses, they had no difficulty in making out Mortlake's heavy-shouldered
figure, and the slender, upright form of Lieut. Bradbury. All at once the
group opened up a bit and they saw a silvery, glittering aeroplane, agleam
with new aluminum paint, throbbing and vibrating, as if anxious to be off.
Blue smoke eddied up as the motor roared and whirred. The air seemed to
vibrate under the sound as if a battery of gatling guns had been
discharged.
Fascinated, brother and sister watched the spectacle intently. They saw
Mortlake clamber heavily into the machine, followed by Lieut. Bradbury. A
mechanic started for the front of the plane and began swinging the
propeller.
"At least they haven't cribbed our self-starting device," exclaimed Peggy,
as she saw.
The next instant the propeller became a whirring blur, and the aeroplane,
after a brief preliminary run, began to climb upward. The morning sun
caught its silvered planes and turned them to gold. It was a beautiful and
inspiring sight. Even with all that lay at stake, Peggy and Roy could not
deny the machine a meed of praise. It was fairy-like in its delicacy of
construction, and speedy as a flash.
Thundering like an express train, it dashed above the Prescott home,
leaving in its wake the pungent odor of burning castor-oil--the most
suitable lubricant for aeroplanes.
Then suddenly--as if a recollection of Peggy's mischievous flight of a few
days previously had occurred to him--Mortlake swung the delicate silvery
machine about and dashed straight down at the boy and girl standing by the
garden gate. So close to their heads did he skim in his desire to show
off, that he almost came too low. For one instant it looked as if the
machine would be dashed to a premature end, but it recovered buoyancy like
a keeled-over racing yacht, and tore upward into the sky at an increased
speed.
"Let's get out the _Golden Butterfly_ and follow the----"
"_Silver Cobweb!_" cried Roy, the name occurring to him in a flash of
inspiration as he watched the filmy outlines of the other aeroplane melt
in the distance.
"Oh, Roy, what a pretty name."
"Isn't it? But somehow, I like _Golden Butterfly_ best. Our machine may be
a bit heavier, but solidity counts in hard service."
Scarcely ten minutes later, and while Mortlake's mechanics and assistants
were still craning their necks skyward, another aeroplane, a yellow
adventurer of the skies, thundered upward. Not to be outdone by Mortlake,
Roy, who was at the wheel, swooped above the rival crowd. They did not
take it with a good grace. Remarks, of which they could not catch the
wording, but only the menacing intonation, were hurled upward at them.
They received them with a laugh and a wave of the hand, which did not put
the Mortlake crowd into any better humor. And then, with a graceful,
swinging curve, that banked the machine almost on its beam ends, they were
up, off and away in pursuit of the _Silver Cobweb_, which, by this time,
was a mere shoe-button of a dot on the horizon.
"Do you think we can overhaul her, Roy?" ventured Peggy, as they raced
through the air, the fresh breath of morning coming refreshingly in their
faces.
"Not a chance," admitted Roy cheerfully, "but they'll turn after a while,
I guess, and then we'll try the _Butterfly_ against the _Cobweb_."
But they kept on and on unrelentingly, and still there was no sign of
diminution of speed on the part of the _Silver Cobweb_. Nor did the other
aircraft give any indication that she was preparing to put about.
Below them, farms, meadows, villages and crowds of wondering country folk
swam by in an ever-changing panorama. The earth beneath them looked like a
big saucer divided up into brown, red and green squares, with tiny
fly-like dots running and walking about.
All at once Roy gave a shout and pointed. Dead ahead, and not more than a
few miles distant, lay a silvery, gleaming streak.
"The sea!"
The exclamation came simultaneously from Peggy and Roy.
They had been traveling due south across the island, and now the broad
Atlantic lay stretched beyond the land, shimmering in the sunlight. Far
off, they could make out the black smoke of a steamer, hovering above the
ocean.
"A mail boat, making for New York," announced Roy.
So fast were they traveling that by this time they could plainly make out
the ocean, which, from a silvery streak, was now changed into a dark-blue
rolling expanse of salt water.
And still the _Silver Cobweb_ kept on, and gave no sign of turning. Nor,
for that matter, had her speed diminished appreciably. The rival aeroplane
was now skimming above the water at a height of about a thousand feet. The
_Golden Butterfly_ maintained about the same altitude, but the gap between
the two aerial craft was not closing up.
"Mortlake's taking a desperate chance to show Lieut. Bradbury what the
_Cobweb_ can do," exclaimed Roy. "With a new engine, he's risking too
much."
"I guess he's seen us and means to beat us out at all hazards,"
conjectured Peggy.
And she was right. Mortlake, glancing back a short time before the sea
appeared on the horizon, had seen the other aeroplane, and guessing at
once what its appearance meant, had determined to keep on, even at the
risk of plunging himself and his passenger into the sea.
That was Mortlake's character; he was a man who could brook no rivalry.
Used all his life to sweep obstacles aside, he would rather have
terminated his career than permit any one to pass him in the race for
first place, no matter in what line that first place might lie.
"Are you going to keep on, Roy?"
The question came as a strip of white beach flashed beneath them, and
Peggy, peering over the edge of the chassis, saw the big Atlantic swells
rolling below them. The thunder of the surf on the beach came clearly to
their ears, even at that height.
"What do you think, Sis? We've got lots of gasoline. The motor is working
without a hitch. I'd hate to turn back now, particularly with that
officer's eyes upon us, as in all probability they are."
"Oh, let's keep on," exclaimed Peggy, casting prudence to the winds. "I
feel like you, Roy. If we turn back now, it would look as if we were
afraid to trust the _Butterfly_ above the ocean, and, after all, it is a
naval contest that we hope to be elected for."
"Forward it is, then," cried Roy exultingly. The tang of the salt wind,
the inspiration of the ocean, had come to him. He felt like a corsair--a
very modern corsair--urging his craft above the ancient sea.
The vessel, whose smoke they had espied at a distance, was quite close to
them now. A huge, black hull, with white passenger decks, rising tier on
tier, four huge red funnels with black tops, and slender masts, between
which hung the spider-web aerials of her wireless apparatus. Her bow was
creaming up the ocean into foam, as she rushed onward at a twenty-four
knot gait.
Roy, obeying a daring impulse, let the _Golden Butterfly_ descend. Now
they could see her promenade decks lined with white faces peering upward.
Here and there the sun glinted on the bright metal work of cameras, all
aimed at the wonderful spectacle of the soaring, buoyant _Golden
Butterfly_.
"Oh, if only we could drop a message on her decks!" breathed Peggy
eagerly. "I do wish we had a post-card or something----"
"By ginger," cried Roy suddenly, "I do believe I've got some in my
coat-pocket. I bought some in the village yesterday to mail to the chaps
back at school. Yes. Here they are, and here's a fountain-pen. Now write
all you want."
Peggy took the cards her brother handed to her with his free hand, and,
with the fountain-pen, sat down to compose some messages. After a few
seconds' thought, she began to write busily. Card after card was covered
with her neat penmanship. All this time Roy had kept the _Golden
Butterfly_ hovering above the liner, from time to time taking swoops and
dives around it like some monstrous sea gull.
Suddenly, from the liner's whistle, a great cascade of white steam
spouted.
"Wough-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!"
It was the vessel's siren blowing a greeting to the young adventurers of
the air. At the same instant a deep-throated roar, a cheer from cabin and
steerage passengers alike, winged its way upward. Roy acknowledged it by a
graceful wave of his cap. Then the cheering broke forth afresh.
The passengers of the newest ocean giant, the _Ruritania_, realized that
they were seeing a spectacle that would remain in their memories all their
lives. Having conquered old ocean with leviathan vessels, man was now
seeking to subdue the air to his utility.