Night had come and in front of one of the handsome hotels that had
escaped splintering when Ostend, the famous seaside resort, under
fire of big guns, was swept by shot and shell, Gun-Lieutenant Mertz
had just stepped out of a big gray automobile that looked like a high
speeder--the kind that has plenty of power. The driver of the car did
not wait for a second order to leave the lieutenant and speed away in
the direction of the mess quarters, where he knew that there was a
fragrant stew being prepared for duty men coming in late.
The fighting of the day had mostly taken place far up the coast, and
the chance had arrived for a loosening of belts in Ostend.
With a final chug the big gray car came to a standstill in a quiet
corner off the main street, while the hungry chauffeur joined his
comrades in what they called pot-luck. The movements of this man had
been watched with a large amount of interest by a pair of visitors, who
had chosen the darkest places they could find while approaching the
dining hall of the soldiers.
“Gee!” whispered one of the watchers to the other. “I can almost feel a
bullet in my back.”
From the companion shadow: “Take your foot out of my face, can’t you?”
Two heads uplifted at the sight of the rear lights of the car.
Again an excited whisper:
“Now for it, Billy!”
The soldiers were laughing and talking loudly in the dining hall.
The boys crawled along, carefully avoiding the light that streamed from
the windows of the hall. A moment later they nimbly climbed into the
car. Henri took the wheel and gently eased the big machine away into
the shadowy background. Then he stopped the car and intently listened
for any sound of alarm. The soldiers were singing some war song in the
dining hall, keeping time with knives and forks.
* * * * *
It was a good time for the boys to make a start in earnest, and they
started with no intention of stopping this side of the ridge, behind
which their friends were anxiously watching and waiting for them.
Henri drove cautiously until he felt sure that they were out of the
principal avenues of travel, and then he made things hum. He guided
straight toward a clump of trees showing black against the moon just
appearing above the crest of the hill. The riding grew rough, but the
speed never slackened. At last the goal was reached. The car bumped
and bounced up, and bounced and bumped down the hill.
Leaping from the machine, Billy fairly rolled to the feet of the
startled crew of the sea-plane.
“So help me,” exclaimed Captain Johnson, “if I didn’t think it was a
section of the Fourth Corps after our scalps!”
“Hurry!” gasped Billy. “Get anything that will hold oil, and get it
quick!”
For the moment confused, Johnson and Freeman seemed tied fast to the
ground.
Henri rolled into the circle and added his gasp:
“We’ve a touring car up there and its tanks are loaded!”
Then the boss mechanic, Freeman, came to the front. From the depths of
the engine room in the motor end of the sea-plane he pulled a heavy
coil of rubber tubing and in a few minutes made attachments that tapped
the automobile’s plentiful supply of petrol and sent it gurgling into
the empty tanks of the sea-plane.
Across the sandy plain came the sound, faintly, of shouting. Maybe
somebody had discovered that the officer’s car was missing.
As Billy suggested with a laugh:
“Perhaps they think some joy riders took it.”
“I’m not going to stay to find out what they think,” very promptly
asserted Captain Johnson. “Heave her out, boys!”
The sea-plane took the water like a duck. Obedient to Johnson’s touch
it leaped upward, the motors were humming, and with a cheery cackle
Freeman announced:
“We’re off again.”
“And they are showing us the way,” cried Billy, as a great searchlight
inland sent a silver shaft directly overhead.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Riflemen on the ridge were popping at the sea-plane.
“There’s a salute for good measure,” observed Henri.
“Lucky we’re out of range of those snipers, but I’m thinking the
batteries might attempt to take a whack at us.”
With these words Captain Johnson set the planes for another jump
skyward.
“There’s the good old moon to bluff the searchlight,” sang out Billy
from the lookout seat. “And, see, there’s a row of smokestacks sticking
out of the water. Sheer off, Captain; don’t let those cruisers pump a
shot at us. They’d wreck this flyer in a minute!”
The sea-plane was taking the back-track at fine speed when valve
trouble developed in the engine room. The cylinders were missing fire,
and all of Freeman’s expert tinkering failed to prevent the necessity
of rapid descent. The hum of the motors died away, and Captain Johnson
dived the craft seaward with almost vertical plunge. The sea-plane
hit the water with a dipping movement that raised a fountain over the
lookout, and it was Billy that cried “Ugh!” when he was drenched from
head to foot by the downfall of several gallons of cold water.
The aircraft had alighted only a few rods from land, in a shallow,
marshy bay. The place was as silent as the grave, save for the calling
of the night birds and the gentle lapping of the waves. Freeman with
the aid of an extra propeller fitting, paddled the craft into shore,
and was soon busy trying to find out what was the matter with the
machinery. Captain Johnson held the acetylene flare over Freeman’s
shoulder to enable the engineer to see where repair was needed.
Billy and Henri, out of a job for the time being, concluded that they
would do some exploring. After wading through the mud, weeds and matted
grass for a hundred yards or so they reached firm footing on higher
ground.