The motor-boat swiftly threaded its way into the Seine, guided with the
greatest skill, for it was a crowded waterway, and landing was made at
the base of a stone staircase leading to extensive grounds, surrounding
one of those old time mansions still holding its dignity against the
modern building advances and commercial activity now prevailing in what
was once Havre de Grace, named from a chapel of Notre Dame de Grace,
founded in 1509.
From a large bay window of an upper room of the mansion, to which the
boys were taken by order of the man with the empty sleeve, they could
see great ship building yards and the tall chimneys of sugar refineries.
Looking at the tapestry-hung walls, Billy remarked: “This reminds me of
Arras.”
“Sure, it does,” agreed Henri. “But,” he added, “without the noise of
the big guns.”
“Wonder if it isn’t train time?”
Jimmy evidently did not approve of all this ceremony over the short
journey still before them.
“You’d think it was an affair of state,” he concluded.
“But you must remember, Jimmy,” advised Henri, “that Paris is something
of a closed town, these days. They are not advertising for visitors
up there, unless they come in uniform, and of the right color. I, for
one, don’t want to be searched,” feeling for the packet inside his
shirt-front, and giving also a tug to the treasure belt.
“Right you are,” approved Billy, “and when you figure that we haven’t
a passport among us. Mine was soaked to a pulp when that old scow blew
up and strewed the sea with us. I couldn’t this minute prove that I was
from Bangor.”
“We’re all members of the Don’t Worry club, and we have always
alighted on our feet,” was Henri’s cheerful view. “Besides, we’re
traveling under sealed orders, so to speak, and it’s up to the fellow
who is personally conducting this excursion.”
The last mentioned personage just then put in appearance, smiling and
making apology for being so long away from his guests.
“I have some rare good news for you,” he impressively announced--“and a
plan that will be much to your liking, I think”--looking at Henri, and
with a side glance at Billy.
“The letter from my friend, whose name I shall not mention, and which
monsieur the captain handed to me, I had not read until I left you, and
I knew not until the reading that of the air two of you are masters.
It is splendid, and it so beautifully fits. Pardon the enthusiasm of a
Frenchman, but so superb is the idea, I must speak this way. You shall
go to Paris, not among the locked in of the railway carriages, not in
the cabin of some little steamer--like a bird you shall go. Is it not
grand?”
Billy had begun to believe that the speaker had stopped too often
in the cafés during the visit downtown, but so convincing was the
statement which followed that he felt sorry for holding such a belief:
“In this port there have just arrived three of the new military
aëroplanes, so much larger than the little ones that have been sent out
from the forts in Paris for scouting--these bigger ones give room for
an observer to move and signal, and the pilot may attend alone to his
duty of managing the machine.
“You understand the foreign make?”
It would evidently have been a sore disappointment to the eager
proposer if the answer were contrary to his hope.
“They all look alike to us,” assured Henri.
“Glorious! It is but the one thing, to put together these fine birds,
to fly them to Paris, and when they are there, so you are there. What
benefit for all. Gilbert! Gilbert!”
Responding to the call of the excitable host, a stocky built youth
with a shock of coal-black hair of such length that it mixed with
his eyebrows, and who had evidently been awaiting the result of the
conference upstairs, sauntered through the doorway.
“For what would you take him?”
Billy thought that he would not “take him” at any price for beauty, but
he politely guessed:
“Artist?”
“Ah! That is it--he is one artist like yourselves--he is the great
scout of the air. Gilbert LeFane of Rouen.”
“I fear it is too much honor, monsieur, that you have bestowed upon me.
I but serve.”
“But what gallant service it is. Permit me now, my dear Gilbert, to
present the youths who also fly with the best, Monsieur Trouville and
Baree, also the young men who travel with them.”
Jimmy and Reddy felt a couple of inches growth through the tops of
their heads. Billy was thinking how “Baree” would sound in Bangor.
Gilbert spoke rapidly and to the point. He was here to receive the
aëroplanes which had been specially built for his government. An expert
assistant in assembling these machines was overdue, and it was a matter
of emergency--of great emergency, he emphasized.
To his patriotic friend, who had so generously praised him a few
minutes before, he had confided his troubles, and this meeting was
arranged. Would the young gentlemen volunteer for this relief service?
The young gentlemen would--and did, and in less than a day, the new
machines were set to the tune of flight.
The master of the mansion was a picture of delight over the success of
that which he had brought about, and even cherished a fond hope that he
had permanently added to the flying corps of his beloved France.
He assured the boys that when they followed Gilbert in the air trip
up the Seine to the capital, it was insuring them a welcome beyond
anything they could have expected--doubly welcome, indeed, with this
and with the endorsement of the power at Calais.
“I wish I knew how far his knowledge goes regarding the sealed packet
that I am carrying,” thought Henri.
But about this, Henri discreetly resolved not to ask any questions.
As to the manner of proceeding on their aërial journey, it was decided,
of course, that Gilbert should lead in one machine, Henri and Reddy in
the second, and Billy and Jimmy in the third.
They followed the course of the river, as the crow flies, land crossing
and cutting out the big bends, and with never a mishap, so perfectly
were the machines adjusted and so expertly managed--a master hand at
every wheel.
Billy said to Jimmy that surely Joseph’s coat never had as many buttons
on it as there were towns, little and big, along this line of travel.
But when he looked down on Paris, on its quays and embankments, on its
magnificent public squares, on its beautiful gardens, on its lofty
towers, all surrounded by twenty-two miles of fortifications, Billy
rested on the guiding wheel in silent admiration.
The grim visage of war was pale in the distance.