MID-ATLANTIC
WITHOUT a word the Skipper touched Jack on the arm. He looked up, and
the Skipper pointed to their trouble. As Jack took off his earphones, he
mechanically sent out “Stand by.”
Both Jack and the Skipper turned over in their minds plans for remedying
this trouble. The Skipper immediately turned off the flow of fuel that
was being pumped into the right wing tank from the main tank. The fuel
remaining in the wing tank continued to leak out, for it came through
the pipe line into the carburetor by gravity. By adjusting his valves
the Skipper drew on his supply in the left wing tank.
They were in a desperate plight. Something must be done at once to stop
this leak. Although they had tried to provide for every emergency, here
was one which would tax their ingenuity to the utmost.
They had a large roll of tape and a bottle of liquid similar to shellac
in the equipment; but whether Jack could reach back far enough to tape
the break was doubtful. However, he opened the sliding window beside him
and tried it. For the first time in his life he regretted his broad
shoulders, for the small window gave him no room in which to work. Once
the rush of the wind nearly tore the tape from his hands. He slipped
back into his seat to rest for a moment, after the twisting strain he
had been under.
Kiwi had been watching with absorbed interest while this maneuver was
going on. He asked Dad if he might try. The Skipper said it was
impossible; but Jack was on Kiwi’s side and thought it might be
accomplished.
With a little jockeying they got Kiwi down to the window, and with Jack
holding firmly to his legs he leaned far out and attempted to wrap the
tape around the break. The rushing of the wind was more than he had
counted on, and he felt it pull and claw at his clothes as he hung half
out of the window. In this awkward position it was almost impossible for
him to do anything, and he motioned to Jack to haul him back into the
cockpit.
Then Kiwi put forth the suggestion which made both the Skipper and Jack
catch their breath. Would Jack help him through the window and lower him
until his feet touched the struts which supported the wing, where he
felt that he could brace himself and do the job?
Kiwi saw a look of horror pass over Dad’s face, but he was sure it could
be done. Using all the arguments he could think of, he at last convinced
Jack, and Dad grudgingly gave his consent for the try.
Slipping out of his jacket so that Jack could get a firm hold on the
leather belt at his waist, Kiwi started, feet first, through the window.
Inch by inch he wormed his way out, reaching with his feet for the strut
where it joined the fuselage.
The Skipper banked the plane over to help Kiwi as much as he could. He
saw the perspiration stand out on Jack’s face, and noticed its set
expression as Kiwi’s feet groped about for support. Another inch and he
might reach it! The force of the wind was terrific.
Kiwi, under this strain, was not conscious of the cold now. He had to
look down to find the strut. Just at this time they were passing over
mountains of clouds. He caught a glimpse, hundreds of feet below, of a
yawning cloud valley with the churning masses of gray fog in a whirling
turmoil. Its awful immensity scared him for a second. Then he located
the strut with his foot and tested its strength.
As soon as Jack felt that Kiwi had some support, he lowered him until
both his feet were pressed against the strut. Then Kiwi slowly faced
around and found that he could just reach the pipe line. The orange side
of the plane stretched out behind him, and he was vaguely conscious of
the word “Dauntless” in huge block letters.
Keeping a grip on Kiwi’s belt with one hand, Jack with his other hand
passed out the roll of tape, and the slow work of winding it commenced.
Inch by inch Kiwi wound, the fuel freezing his fingers in the terrific
cold. He had one layer completed, and Jack passed out the shellac.
Somehow or other he got a coat of it over the tape. It dried almost
instantly, and the difficult work of another layer was begun.
Kiwi signalled to Jack that he must rest, and Jack eased him over to the
side, where he hung shaking with weariness from his efforts.
The Skipper was undergoing untold tortures, for he could only guess at
what was going on. Jack’s body at the window shut off his view of Kiwi.
He was doing everything in his power to hold the plane steady, using
every particle of his skill to keep the bumps from causing Kiwi to lose
his footing.
But in spite of all the Skipper’s efforts, one particularly vicious bump
caused Kiwi to slip, and for just a second he wondered wildly if Jack
could hold him from dropping off into that awesome space. His feet found
the struts again, and he rested.
Slowly another layer was put on, and the flow stopped. To make sure,
another coat of shellac was put on and another layer of tape. Just then
a few drops of rain warned of another shower.
At last the job was finished, and only time could tell if it would hold.
Then came the struggle to get the boy back into the plane. Slowly and
painfully he was drawn up to the level of the window. With a final tug
he was pulled inside, and Jack, with his last remaining strength, lifted
Kiwi to the top of the tank.
They were an exhausted crew for the next few minutes, there in the
middle of the broad Atlantic.
A great deal of altitude had been lost, and they were now in the midst
of churning clouds. It was quite probable that the Skipper, in trying to
make things as easy as possible for Jack and Kiwi during their terrific
ordeal, had gone considerably off the course. In tipping the plane over
sideways he had flown in big circles, and it was necessary that they
lose no time in resuming their straight flight.
[Illustration]
The Skipper at once began to climb back above the clouds. The plane was
still soaked from the rain squalls they had passed through. Not long
after, they came out into the bright sunshine, and there directly ahead
of them, like a promise for their success, was a tremendous rainbow. It
reassured their worn spirits, and the Skipper pointed it out to Kiwi
with the comforting words:
“There’s your pay for a good job done.”
[Illustration]
It was unlike rainbows seen on the ground, for the delicate colors made
a complete circle. Kiwi looked down and there on the uneven surface of a
cloud was the distinct shadow of their plane moving toward the rainbow.
Then the plane seemed to pass completely through it. Surely a good omen
for the success of their flight.
The Skipper felt that there could be no better time than this for a
little food. They finally located a package of sandwiches, and he and
Jack refreshed themselves from the thermos bottle. The coffee was still
piping hot. Kiwi, after eating a sandwich, finished the other orange
that Old Bill had given him.
Their spirits rose tremendously. Jack put on his head-phones and put out
a call to find some one who would verify their position.
[Illustration]
The Malin Head station in Ireland got signals through to Jack much
plainer than they had in earlier attempts. After some trying, Jack got
the latitude and longitude of Malin Head and their directional bearing.
Locating on the map the Malin Head station, and drawing a line on the
map on the bearing the station had given him, meant that a similar
bearing from a different angle would locate the plane’s position over
the Atlantic. He now needed a check-up from another station.
The _Aquitania_, twelve hours out of Cherbourg, sent its position, and
from its directional radio the bearing. It was then the work of but a
moment to make the necessary calculations, and Jack placed his pencil
point down upon the chart and said, “Well, that’s where we are now.”
About half of their water crossing had been accomplished.
Still Kiwi had no view of the ocean under them. In the hours since they
had left the coast of Newfoundland, they had always been in the clouds
or had had a heavy layer beneath them. They were flying at about eight
thousand feet, and ahead of them now was a huge wall of clouds that
seemed to extend upward fully eighteen thousand feet. The light shone on
them, lighting up the peaks and valleys of the cloud mountains. They
approached the clouds rapidly, and once in them the plane was plunged
into a heavy twilight.
The air bumps here were terrific, tossing them about, and the Skipper
was obliged to keep his eye constantly on the bank and climb indicator
in order to keep the plane on anything resembling an even keel. As they
had entered the clouds the wind had been nearly dead astern, and here in
the murky darkness they were compelled to trust solely to their
instruments for navigation. The wind caught them up in fierce eddies,
and swirls of gray clouds sucked up past them. Flashes of lightning
darted here and there. The plane seemed to have no more stability than a
kite.
Kiwi’s heart leaped as one tremendous bolt of lightning flashed before
his eyes, just ahead. He felt the entire plane quiver under the impact
of the blows struck by the wind. They had become accustomed to the roar
of the motor, and now it seemed as though they could hear the noise of
the storm.
As the wind howled by, they could feel the air growing colder and
colder. Kiwi watched the magnetic compass, set up high above the
instrument board, swing first one way and then the other with the
twisting and turning of the plane as it was buffeted by the winds.
Jack had stopped all attempts to use his wireless, and had his spare
control stick in place ready to help the Skipper should he tire from his
tremendous exertions. Both their faces showed the strain of flying
through the storm.
As the cold increased, sleet began to beat against the windows, and Jack
glanced out uneasily to catch the first indication of ice forming on
their wings. He realized the seriousness of such a happening. The upper
and lower surface of the wing was cambered, or curved, in a scientific
way to help lift the load of the plane, and anything that changed this
curve would destroy its lifting power. Therefore at the first sign of
ice forming on the wings they must begin a hunt for warmer air currents.
Ice often formed with great rapidity, and knowing this both the Skipper
and Jack watched closely for the first tell-tale sign. The engine was
throttled back about a quarter to the best cruising speed.
There seemed to be no end to the storm. It had been nearly half an hour
since they had left the clear sunshine and entered into this ominous
twilight. They had held their altitude, knowing that it was no use to
try to climb above the clouds, and having no assurance that it would be
better lower down. Every little while rain would suddenly fall, and as
suddenly stop.
All at once they were conscious of a thin film of the dreaded ice
forming over the cockpit windows. Jack slipped back the glass panel and
looked out. There on the leading edge of the wing was the unmistakable
sign that ice was starting to form. In uneven lumps it was building
slowly backwards....
Jack told the Skipper the disquieting news and shouted to Kiwi to slide
back to his window in the rear compartment to see if the trailing edge
of the wing was also gathering ice. Kiwi’s window was not as badly
obscured as were those in front. He could see a thin layer of ice on the
trailing edge working forward with great rapidity, and he crept over the
tank to report this to Dad.
“We’ll try it lower,” Dad said. “We may strike some warm air there.”
Shutting off the engine as much as he dared, they coasted on down and
down.
They tried it at the five thousand foot level for a few minutes. If
anything they accumulated ice faster.
They went down another thousand feet. The plane seemed to be much
heavier on the controls. Still no halt in the gathering of the ice.
The situation was becoming desperate, and the Skipper told Jack to try
and get into communication with some ship. If the ice kept on forming it
would mean that they would have to land on the water in another fifteen
or twenty minutes. In order to fly level it was necessary to run their
engine almost at its maximum.
They brought the plane lower down, and still they could see nothing but
swirling clouds.
Jack was sending out their call letter with the S O S to show that they
were in trouble. He got a feeble answer, and worked with his instruments
trying to bring it nearer and clearer.
Still the hateful ice piled onto them. Extending back from the leading
edge of the wing it was now fully an inch thick. It was freezing in the
narrow slots of their ailerons. The Skipper was finding it increasingly
difficult to balance the plane sideways.
He came down to a thousand feet, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the
ocean underneath. All was gray and murky.
Jack was working feverishly with his sending key and listening for an
answer to his calls. Two ships in their eagerness to help were
interfering with the reception of either message.
The engine was now wide open, and they were staggering along under the
load of ice. They could not see the tail of the plane, but knew from the
way the elevator operated that it, too, was covered with ice. Slowly
they were losing altitude.
Jack was getting one of the calls a little better. The ship was sending
her position and asking for theirs. The Skipper, now thoroughly alarmed
and feeling that they were to be forced into the water, called to Kiwi
to get their collapsible boat and put it where it could be reached in an
instant. It was stored in the rear.
Kiwi made his way back, unlashed it from where it hung, and started
forward. As he crept to the front he saw Jack, every nerve tense, trying
to make out the code, and Dad straining his eyes to catch the first
glimpse of the heaving water.
Nothing but the deep grayish blue everywhere.
Suddenly, out of the gloom ahead, they made out a white shape rising
straight up a hundred feet above them. It looked pale and ghostly. There
was no time to figure out what it might be. The Skipper instinctively
yanked the stick back. The plane staggered up, making a valiant effort
to obey the demands of its pilot. Jack glanced up from his instruments
just in time to see this white spectre approaching with terrific speed.
He turned a look of amazement and horror upon the Skipper.
[Illustration]
The plane climbed ever so sluggishly, but as the shape came rushing at
them they saw that it would be cleared if only by a matter of inches.
“It’s an iceberg!” exclaimed Jack.
The Skipper pushed the stick forward and leveled out just as their
flying speed was dropping to an alarming extent. He was hardly quick
enough, for one wing dropped and they started into a flat spin. At once
the Skipper put the nose down until they had flying speed.
They rushed along. Realizing that there might be more bergs in the
neighborhood, both watched ahead with a fascinated gaze. They saw two
more—one to their right, so close that their throats tightened with the
fear of it.
Strangely enough the air here seemed a little warmer. The plane was
handling better, and they began to hope that the ice was not gaining on
them.
Twenty minutes went by, and they began to feel a little easier. Now
there was no doubt but that they had hit a warm air current and the ice
was melting.
The Skipper was able to throttle back the engine and still keep an
altitude of about one hundred feet above the ocean. They were close
enough now to see the mighty heave of its waters, the blue-black of its
surface broken here and there by white foam as the waves broke.
Another hour they hurtled along, the air getting clearer, when suddenly
Kiwi noticed away to their right a big ship plunging along. The red of
her funnels and the white of her decks contrasted sharply with the
dullness of the background. He pointed it out to the two men in front,
and the Skipper bore over toward it.
“Send them a message, Jack, that we’ll keep going,” he said.
Jack started with his key, sent out his call letter, and waited for its
acknowledgment. The answer came, very faint:
“Your signals weak. Can hardly hear you.”
He tried again. The answer was just audible.
“Can’t hear you. Are you sending?”
By this time they were very close to the ship and Jack shouted to the
Skipper:
“Something wrong with the wireless. They can’t hear us.”
During the next few seconds it took to come abreast the ship, it flashed
through the Skipper’s mind that at the time of their narrow escape from
the iceberg it was quite possible that their wireless aerial, trailing
underneath, had been torn off. He barked out to Jack:
“Try sending the message with your flashlight!”
Among the numberless things that had been stowed away aboard the plane,
Jack had provided himself with a powerful flashlight to use in such an
emergency.
As they swooped low over the ship they could see the rails lined with
passengers staring up at them. Jack opened his window and thrusting the
flashlight over the side started blinking the message as the Skipper
tilted the plane over and began a wide circle around the liner.
Kiwi was craning his neck over Jack’s shoulder, and saw a light sending
out flashes from the bridge. Profiting by Jack’s training, he was able
to read the ship’s message. It said:
“Your flashes too weak. Can’t read them.”
[Illustration]
Informed of this, the Skipper decided that they would have to write a
note and try to drop it on the decks.
Jack hastily wrote out the message:
“Trouble over. We’re going on. Your position, please.”
Looking for something with which to weight it, his eye lighted on one of
the bottles of water, and with a rubber band that he had been using to
keep his writing pad in position, he fastened the note to the bottle and
signalled the Skipper to fly into position to drop it.
The Skipper swung in a wide circle and approaching the ship from the
stern as slowly as he could, he yelled to Jack:
“Heave it out when you’re ready!”
As they flew directly over the ship they felt a great air bump as they
crossed the smoke-stacks and were struck by the heated column of air. As
they passed the bow of the boat Jack leaned far out and threw the bottle
downward.
Kiwi felt the plane lurch as Dad turned it quickly to watch the bottle’s
descent. It went hurtling down, and for a second it seemed as though it
would strike the bridge. Then the wind caught it, it struck one of the
lifeboats and bounded off into the water. It was disheartening, but they
must try again.
Jack wrote a repetition of the message, and then was at a loss to know
what he could use to weight it with. There was just one more bottle of
water, and it was too precious to use for this purpose. Both Jack and
the Skipper thought fast. Then the Skipper said, “Here,” and reaching
into his inside pocket beneath his flying suit, he pulled out a
cigarette case. It was a silver case, heavily engraved, that the men of
his squadron had presented to him at Christmas, 1918, after the war had
ended.
Jack made a sign that it was a shame to risk it, but the Skipper
shrugged his shoulders, and Jack hastily added to the message, “Return
this case to Captain McBride later.” He slipped the message inside the
case and clicked it shut.
The Skipper jockeyed into position for another try. This time he came
down even lower and kept to the leeward side of the ship. Rushing along
nearly on a level with the top decks, they had passed the ship before
Jack had time to hurl his message.
Again the Skipper swung the plane around, and this time as he drew
alongside Jack leaned out and threw the case with all his might. It went
spinning toward the ship, sailed over the rail, struck a hatchway, and
was pounced upon by one of the stokers on the forward deck.
The crowd on board waved frantically to the plane above. The “Dauntless”
swung in a wide circle and came back over the ship for the last time. A
puff of steam from the whistle and a flashing light on the bridge showed
that those on board had read the plane’s message were sending them the
ship’s position and a “good-bye.”
Straightening out on their course, after Jack had read the ship’s
answer, they flew on at top speed and soon left the ship far behind.
Kiwi scrambled back to his little window, and with his face pressed
against the pane saw the liner melt into the haze. A great feeling of
loneliness came over him as he saw it disappear from view. The fleeting
glimpse he had had of other human beings had served to bring home to him
their utter detachment from the world. He commenced to realize how long
they had been on their way, and thinking back over their trials and
adventures he suddenly felt very weary. He longed for sleep, but Dad
called out:
“How about some lunch, Kiwi?”
Kiwi unwrapped his own sandwiches and climbing up on the tank offered
them to Dad and Jack, but found that they were already busy with some of
their own. The food and coffee seemed to cheer up the two men, and the
engine hummed merrily along carrying them on their way.
Sitting crouched on the top of the tank, Kiwi’s head nodded several
times. Feeling himself slipping off into slumber, he stretched out.
Above the noise of the engine he could hear Dad singing with great gusto
an old negro spiritual that he was very fond of:
“I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,
When I get home.
I’m goin’ to tell God all o’ my troubles,
When I get home.
“I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,
When I get ho-o-m-m-e.
I’m goin’ to tell Him the road was rocky,
When I get ho-o-m-m-e.
“I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,
When I get ho-o-m-m-e.
I’m goin’ to tell Him I had hard trials,
When I get ho-o-m-m-e.”
Kiwi must have slept for a couple of hours. He awoke with the feeling
that something was wrong. Almost instantly he discovered that the steady
beat of the engine had changed. It was missing and spluttering and the
plane was vibrating in a terrifying way.
Jack was working with his wireless instrument. Kiwi saw him shake his
head and complain, “Nothing I can do will bring those signals loud
enough to be of any use.”
He gave it up and the Skipper asked him to check up the amount of fuel
they had left in their tanks. Yes, there was plenty of fuel, for the
Skipper nodded his head.
They were above the clouds. As far as the eye could see they were
stretched out in a rolling plain, looking for all the world like drifted
snow. They looked solid enough to land upon.
If their engine failed to pick up within the next few minutes, they
would lose altitude until there was nothing left to do but crash ... and
their flight would end in disaster.
[Illustration]
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[Illustration]