A LEAP FROM THE SKIES
Grace Harlowe regarded him calmly, rather to the surprise of the
balloonist, for he had feared a different attitude.
“What are the probabilities, sir?” she asked.
“Oh, we are certain to get down, Mrs. Gray.”
“But--” She smiled doubtfully.
“We are getting higher all the time, and I am in hopes that we shall
run into a counter-current that will drive us back over our own lines.
Once there we can come down with nothing more than a shaking up. We can
do that anyway if we do not become mixed up with more currents.”
“But, sir, I do not see how getting back to our own lines is going to
be of much assistance to us. Granting that we reach a current of air
that will take us over our lines, haven’t we got to pass through the
present level to get down, and will not that level blow us toward the
Rhine again? We might keep on seesawing indefinitely, it appears to me.”
“You surely have a head on your shoulders, young woman,” answered the
major laughingly. “This being the case I’ll tell you the truth. We are
in a fix. The best we can do at the moment is to let the bag drift
where it will, hoping for the best. Provided it doesn’t carry us too
far away, the wind probably will at least moderate by sundown, then I
shall liberate some gas and we will make a landing. To try it in this
wind would mean that the ship surely would be torn to pieces and that
quite probably we would share a similar fate.”
“How long can the balloon be depended upon to stay up?”
“Until sometime to-morrow morning. Of course if it takes a great
altitude it is liable to burst, but I shall try not to let it get up
that high.”
“It is a cheerful outlook, Major. I thank you for your frankness,
just the same. It is considerable satisfaction to know just what the
probabilities are.”
As she was speaking, the officer, with glasses to his eyes, was
studying the terrain ahead of them. Grace applied her own glasses to
her eyes and gazed off to the eastward. She could make out the narrow
ribbon of water, a crooked ribbon it was, that marked the course
of the Rhine. Beyond it were rugged, terraced hills which she knew
were vineyards, here and there the towers of a castle relieving the
monotony of the hills. She was interrupted by a shout from the pilot.
“Here we go back,” he cried. “In another level now. That’s good.”
It was not long before they had swept over the marching American
army, now so far below them that it could be made out only with the
binoculars. The major liberated a little gas, whereupon the big bag
was caught in a blast and driven to the eastward again. This time he
let the ship go. There was no other safe course to follow. As it swept
through the air it gained in altitude again, but did not go so high as
before. Soon the earth was blotted out by a sea of clouds, which only
now and then broke sufficiently to give the aviators a view of what lay
beneath the cloud-sea.
“We must go lower,” the pilot told her, opening the gas valve ever so
little, whereupon the balloon slowly sank through the clouds and the
earth grew into their vision.
Something _pinged_ through the air close at hand. Grace Harlowe had
heard that sound many times since she arrived on the western front, and
so had the major. It was a bullet, probably a rifle bullet. She flashed
a significant glance at her companion and he nodded.
_Ping!_ Another bullet had flung itself up from the earth.
The major threw over some ballast, which in this instance proved to be
one of his sailing instruments.
“Sorry, but I had to do it,” he explained in answer to her look of
inquiry. “Of course I might throw myself out, but that would be too
much ballast and you never would stop going heavenward until the outfit
blew up.”
Grace laughed and the officer joined in the laugh. The balloon had
quickly shot through the clouds and was sailing along, the basket just
grazing the tops of them. It was a wonderful spectacle, which the
Overton girl, despite her serious situation, found time to gaze upon,
and marvel at the beauties of cloudland.
All at once the clouds broke up into huge banks of black and white
vapor, and looking down the officer saw that they had been swept back
some little distance to the westward. He reasoned that they were about
over the spot where the shots had been fired, which proved to be the
range of terraced hills on the eastern side of the river.
“I told you we would reach the Rhine before the army did,” he chuckled.
_Ping!_
A little chip of wicker was neatly snipped from one corner of the
basket. Grace Harlowe regarded it questioningly, and grinned.
“I thought you said the war was ended, sir,” she said, glancing over at
him.
“Huns!” he replied explosively. “What can one expect?”
“What I am concerned about principally, sir, is what would happen to us
if the gas bag were hit by a rifle bullet. Would it be a serious matter
for us?”
He nodded.
“We would be obliged to give up our joy ride and go home.”
_Ping! Pock!_
“Hit!” exclaimed the major, glancing up apprehensively at the bag.
“I heard it, sir. Are we losing altitude?”
“Not much, but we shall be soon. Yes, she’s settling a little now. Look
up.”
Grace did so and observed a fold in the bag that had not been there
before, showing that some gas had escaped.
“How long will it take to let us down?”
“About twenty minutes. We shall go down faster after a little. Look
over your harness and make certain that the lines are not fouled,” he
directed, taking his own advice. “Just in case of emergency,” he nodded.
“They seem to be all right, sir,” Grace informed him. “You do not think
we shall have to use them, do you?”
Major Colt shook his head.
“Not at this rate of descent.”
_Ping! Pock!_
They had been hit again. Grace found herself admiring the shooting, for
it really was excellent work, probably done with an automatic rifle in
the hands of a former enemy sharpshooter.
The major cast an anxious glance up at the swaying bag, then down at
that which was slowly assuming the appearance of Mother Earth. He was
disturbed, not for himself but because of his passenger. Grace observed
his distress.
“Don’t worry, Major. You know you said that nothing serious possibly
could happen on this voyage, now that the war is over.”
“I take it back. The war isn’t over. It will be over mighty quickly,
though, if I get my hands on the miserable Boche who is trying to shoot
us down.”
“Trying to? He already has,” corrected the Overton girl.
There were now several folds in the big envelope, the sides of which
seemed to be respirating like those of some huge animal, and they were
falling altogether too rapidly to leave much hope for what was to come.
“We shall be down in a heap soon,” announced the officer calmly. “Mrs.
Gray, are you in full possession of your nerve?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Because you’ve got to jump.”
“Oh!” “Captain” Grace could feel a cold sweat breaking out all over
her. “Ho--ow--ho--ow high are we?”
“About a mile.”
She looked over the side into the abyss, and Grace Harlowe was
convinced that were she to try that jump her heart would stop beating
forever long before she reached the earth. Still, she showed none of
her real feelings when she looked up at her companion.
“I am ready whenever you give the word, sir. You must tell me just what
to do and when to do it. You know it will have been the first time that
I ever fell out of the skies. I’ll be a real shooting star, won’t I?”
“You will do,” grinned the balloonist. “Get ready. We have no time to
lose.”
“How about yourself, sir?”
“As soon as you are well started I will follow, and being heavier I
probably shall catch up with you. Make certain that you are clear
before you get out of the basket. Then climb out, hanging on to the
edge of the basket, looking about you once more to be on the safe side.
Understand?”
[Illustration: She Clung Desperately to the Basket’s Edge.]
Grace nodded.
“Then what, sir?”
“Let go! Your part of the operation will not have been completed until
you reach the ground. The instant you feel your feet touching earth,
cut yourself clear. Here is a knife. Hang it about your neck. Hurry
now. We are losing rapidly.” The pilot cast another anxious glance over
the big bag, then down at the earth.
“Are you clear?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Climb out! Take it easy. I knew an absent-minded pilot who climbed
out with great deliberateness and let go and was dashed to his death
because he had forgotten to hook up his harness. He thought he had it
in order, but he had not. Out now. I will give you a hand.”
The basket tipped perilously when she threw a leg over the edge of it.
The other leg seemed to weigh tons. It simply would not go over, and
the major had to assist her. Grace’s body finally slipped over, she
clinging desperately to the basket’s edge as she straightened out. It
was the most awful moment of her life.
“Let go!” bellowed the major.
Grace shut her eyes and held them shut with all her might. Her fingers
slowly relaxed their grip on the basket and her body shot downward.