A NARROW ESCAPE
IN the morning, as Kiwi and the two men rowed away from the little
houseboat, clouds hung low over the bay, the wind whipped up tiny
whitecaps, and in the bow of the boat where Kiwi sat he felt the
wavelets going slap-slap as they drew toward the shore. A sand bank
showed yellow against the dark gray of the sky. Jack had received
weather reports during the night from the wireless he had installed on
their floating home and, with a quick look around, dismissed the
threatening appearance of things with a curt, “This will all clear away
by noon, I’m sure.”
Kiwi’s spirits rose, for it had begun to look as though his flight might
be postponed again.
On the ride over to the field in the car, Jack said:
“Well, Skipper, do we try out your comic stream-lining on the wheels
today? Not many pilots have any faith in them. I cannot see myself where
they will add much to our speed.”
“Well,” replied the Skipper, “I’ll admit that they look like a pair of
tin pants, but if they add even five miles an hour to the speed of our
bus, that amount, spread over seventy hours, will mean a lot for our
chances of arriving in India. At any rate, we’ll give them a try today
if those mechanics have managed to get them installed.”
By the time they drew up in front of the hangar the weather looked more
threatening. There was little activity outside the long row of hangars
that lined the field. Old Bill had waved from the little window of his
restaurant as they passed. Only one machine was standing on the line,
and the mechanics were half-heartedly turning the propeller over.
At their own hangar the two smudgy mechanics were still busy with the
stream-lining. There seemed little chance that the plane would be ready
much before noon.
Kiwi wandered up the line of hangars to see what other excitement he
could find. He liked to listen to the flying talk that was practically
the only topic of conversation around the field. He had learned to
respect those rather dingy buildings, some of which were now in a sad
state of disrepair.
They had served other purposes during the war. Dad had even pointed out
the deserted and dilapidated buildings that had been used for barracks,
where he had eaten and slept before being sent overseas. He had also
pointed out to Kiwi the building they had used as a kitchen, where he
had washed dishes and peeled potatoes for twelve hours at a stretch as a
punishment for being caught in his bed after the whistle for reveille
had blown.
There was little now to make them glamorous—no uniforms to be seen, no
sound of bugles, no high hopes for adventurous times across the seas. In
fact, they seemed to Kiwi a bit too spooky even in daylight. He seldom
stayed long in any one of them. Dad had given him the feeling that they
were crowded with the unseen presence of rollicking young fellows who
had once stayed there, who had gone away, and had never returned. They
had learned to fly, had mounted into the high heavens, had come to know
a world apart—a world of mountainous clouds, with the ground far below
blue-gray in the early morning—a silent kingdom of its own, its silence
sometimes shattered by the rattle of machine-guns and the bursts of
anti-aircraft shells.
Just before noon, as the sky seemed to lighten somewhat, Kiwi noticed
their machine being wheeled from the hangar with its new stream-lining
in place.
[Illustration]
He hurried back and was told that they would soon start. As chocks[4]
were put under the wheels, he climbed up into the cockpit beside his
Dad. It was a tiny place with just enough room for two men, crowded with
instruments and wheels. Even the seat was a gasoline tank. For gasoline
was to be the life of their flight, and every possible ounce had to be
carried when the real hop-off came. During most of the tests the tanks
were only partly filled.
Footnote 4:
Chocks are triangular blocks of wood placed in front of the two wheels
of the undercarriage to prevent the plane from beginning to roll after
the propeller has been started.
He watched Dad as he adjusted the levers, and as the mechanic said,
“Switch off! Suck in!” Dad leaned out and repeated it after him. The
mechanic turned the propeller over several times to get a rich mixture
in each cylinder. Then as the mechanic called out “Contact!” Dad threw
over his switches, and after a couple of false starts the engine roared
into life.
For a few moments, as it warmed up, Dad watched the dial which told the
number of revolutions his engine was making. Then, as he felt that all
was ready, he opened wide the throttle and the whole plane quivered with
the roar of the engine. As soon as his instruments showed him that the
engine was developing its full power, he throttled back and motioned to
Jack to hop in.
As Jack started to do so, he said, “We haven’t the wireless aerial.
Connors is splicing on a new piece.”
“Never mind,” Dad replied, “we won’t need it this time.”
Dad’s invitation to Jack meant that there would be no room in front for
Kiwi. But Dad said, “Kiwi, you slip over the tank and ride in the
compartment in the back.”
There was scarcely room for him to squeeze through in the space between
the top of the tank and the under side of the wing.
The chocks were withdrawn, and they went bumping out across the field to
the far side and turned into the wind. Then, as the engine opened up,
Kiwi felt the tail lift, they went rolling across the ground and, with a
last gentle bump, were in the air.
[Illustration]
Kiwi looked out to see the ground apparently falling away from him, and
the hangars, houses and fields took on a toy-like appearance. He was now
accustomed to this sensation, but he would always remember his first
flight and how odd it had seemed to have the ground slip away from
beneath him in this strange manner. He remembered the queer feeling he
had had when they made their first turn. It seemed as though they were
perfectly stationary, and that the whole earth had suddenly started to
tilt up until it stood on edge.
Kiwi remembered, too, his first experience in clouds. The clouds were
not very high, and he had motioned to Dad to go up through them. As they
started up they were soon surrounded by a fog so dense that even the
wing-tips faded from sight. They had flown on for what seemed to him an
endless time, when Dad shook his head, motioned that the clouds were too
thick, and started down.
Wires screamed with the vibration, and Kiwi kept a sharp lookout over
the side for the first appearance of the ground. Surely they must see it
soon! Then, with a sudden start, he looked over his shoulder to find the
earth apparently above him. It took him some seconds to convince himself
that this was really the ground in such an unusual place. There above
him was this uncanny earth, with the trees lining the tiny roads, half
hiding the toy-like houses.
Dad had afterwards explained to him that in trying to get up through the
clouds he had lost all sense of direction; that when he had shut off his
engine and pointed the plane to what he thought was down, they had
fallen sideways rather than straight down, which accounted for the earth
appearing in this unexpected quarter.
However, on this first flight in the new machine, he had no such
experience; for they had taken off in a straight line and climbed to
nearly a thousand feet before any turn was made. Also, being completely
inclosed in his little compartment, he felt much more secure. He peered
out of the windows, first on one side and then on the other. As they
came back over the field, he looked down to see several figures rushing
about and another plane taking off.
Dad headed out toward the ocean. It was Kiwi’s first view of the
Atlantic, which extended far off toward the misty horizon, dotted here
and there with busy ships going about their errands. A long trail of
smoke marked a big liner heading for the port of New York. Its decks and
life-boats showed dazzling white against the dark blue of the water.
Then Dad turned and they headed back toward the field. Suddenly, almost
from nowhere, there appeared to Kiwi a plane with silver wings and blue
body—the plane that he had noticed taking off a short time before. It
came close and tried to fly level with them. Kiwi, fascinated, watched
the pilot as he waved to them. He continued to wave, and then pointed to
the side of his machine.
Kiwi noticed then in large white chalked letters the words, YOUR RIGHT
WHEEL GONE.
The pilot of this machine seemed unable to catch up with them and so
attract Dad’s and Jack’s attention.
[Illustration]
As they roared along, Kiwi crossed over to the right side, looked out of
his little window, and there hanging down useless was the stream-lining
and no sign of the wheel.
His first thought was, “Now Dad will shew them what it means to be a
good pilot.” Then it crossed his mind, “Perhaps Dad doesn’t know it’s
gone.”
He scrambled up onto the huge tank and wormed his way toward the front.
Jack saw him coming and motioned him back. The roar of the motor drowned
out Kiwi’s voice as he tried to tell them what had happened. But Jack
did finally understand as Kiwi pointed frantically back toward the other
plane still trying to overtake them.
Dad gave a startled glance toward the plane and read the message,
YOUR RIGHT WHEEL GONE.
He motioned to Jack to open his cockpit window and verify their
predicament. There was a nodding of heads, showing that both understood.
When they got back to the field they flew low, while Dad waved his arm
to let those on the ground know that they were aware of their plight.
The news of their mishap had evidently traveled, for a crowd was
gathering and more and more cars were arriving.
They made no attempt to land for they could see that another plane was
about to take-off, and a mechanic was even then chalking a new message
to them.
They circled around until this plane drew alongside, and against its
dark background they read a longer message:
LAND AT MITCHEL. AMBULANCE THERE. NO CROWDS.
Dad waved his arm to let them know he understood. Then he drew over
toward the other field and circled around for several minutes, which
came to seem like hours. They could see the activity on the ground as
every preparation was made to take care of the inevitable crash.
To land a heavy plane such as theirs on one wheel was a thing that had
been seldom, if ever, tried before. Kiwi had heard stories of pilots who
had landed not knowing one wheel was off, and he knew that the
consequences were often very serious. Planes turned over so quickly once
the axle caught and dug into the ground. But he also knew that warned as
they had been of the loss of their wheel, there was a good chance that
Dad would pull them through.
[Illustration]
He thought of the hours of work that had been spent on this machine and
of the high hopes they had that it would carry Dad and Jack thousands of
miles across land and water, and he realized how dashed their hopes
would be if there were irreparable damage.
Jack’s head appeared above the tank. He motioned Kiwi forward, and then
explained to him by gestures how he must brace himself when the final
moments of landing came.
Kiwi nodded and felt that here was his chance to show Dad and Jack that
he had the necessary courage. He knew that he would prove equal to the
test.
[Illustration]
As he dropped back into his compartment, he looked down on the field. A
group of men had marked a cross with wide strips of cloth in the middle
of the field, showing the best place to land. In front of the Operations
Office was a little group of people beside the ambulance, with a red
cross on its side. As he looked farther along, he saw the red and the
polished nickel of a fire truck. Men were hurrying to different parts of
the field with what he knew to be fire-extinguishers.
[Illustration]
The stage was set for the try.
As they circled around, heading into the wind, he felt Dad throttle back
the engine and the long, slow glide to the field was started.
The spectators on the ground were no more tense than Kiwi, through the
long seconds of this dive to uncertainty.
The silence, after the engine had been throttled down, was broken only
by the rush of the wind through the struts. He braced himself. He felt
Dad tip the plane over so that the left wheel would touch first. As the
plane lost momentum, the other axle dropped, caught in the ground, and
with a terrific crunching of metal they spun around and came to a stop.
He heard cheers and voices and saw Dad’s scared face come through the
trap door in the bottom.
“Are you all right, Kiwi?”
Dad lifted him down with shaking arms, and they were at once surrounded
by a group of people slapping Dad on the back and telling him what a
wonderful job he had done.
They looked the precious plane over. Some damage had been done, but
nothing that could not be fixed within a few days. One of the wing-tips
had been slightly torn and they would need a new propeller.
It seemed no time at all until camera men appeared, and nothing would do
but that Dad must pose with Kiwi on his shoulder and Jack smiling by his
side.
Within a few minutes planes from the other field began arriving. The
pilots were amazed to find all three unhurt, and were loud in their
praise of the marvelous way in which Dad had made the landing. He stood
there, cool and collected, smoking a cigarette, the color now back in
his tanned cheeks, his wavy chestnut hair very much awry as he took off
his helmet and goggles. There was nothing to show of the tense strain he
had been under except a slightly drawn look about his gray eyes. He was
shorter and less striking in appearance than Jack, but the crowd of
pilots singled him out and gave him that praise which only one pilot can
give to another.
They made a fuss over Kiwi, too, and he had the feeling that he had been
weighed and not found wanting—that in this emergency he had kept his
head and done the right thing.
For the first time Dad seemed to notice Kiwi’s nondescript clothes as
the photographers were snapping pictures. True, very little attention
had been paid to what he wore. There had seemed to be so many other more
important things to be looked after. But as they were riding back to
their old hangar, Dad said, “Kiwi, I think tomorrow would be a good time
for you and me to make a trip into town and we will get you a new
outfit. If you _will_ insist upon getting your pictures in the papers,
the folks back home will want to see you in the sort of clothes a young
aviator should wear.”
“Will it be a uniform, Dad, like yours?” Kiwi had asked.
“Absolutely, if that’s what you want,” had been Dad’s promise.
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[Illustration]