One fine morning a great airship was discovered by Londoners floating
over the Admiralty Arch. Now it was well known that guns had been
mounted on the Admiralty Arch and on the roof of the War Office and
several of the other larger buildings. The purpose of these guns was,
of course, to repel hostile airships, about which London had become
decidedly nervous.
These guns, however, had no occasion to bang at this aërial visitor,
for it was known by those on the inside that this craft was not going
to drop any bombs on the big town, but simply, on order, drop itself
into the Thames, which in navigable importance has been pronounced the
greatest river in the world.
There was no doubt many a hysterical outburst regarding the big
aircraft, but as nothing was blown up during its hovering period, there
was consequently nothing to tell a policeman about.
This particular airship was conducted by our Aviator Boys--Billy Barry
and Henri Trouville, or Henri Trouville and Billy Barry, as you please,
according to who was at the wheel. It happened that Billy was working
his regular trick as pilot on this London visit, and it was the first
journey of importance that Henri and himself had been in sole command
of a sea-plane--the largest of its kind.
It being a peaceful or commercial mission, there was no gunner in the
bow, and no wireless operator sat in the center of the hull. Just
Billy, fore, and Henri, aft. A small crew, but a crew trained to the
minute.
The sea-plane, by signal, took to the river a short distance below
London Bridge, in the dock region, where there was a total water area
of some 600 acres.
On the occasion of the official visit to the sea-plane, as it floated
near the docks, the inspecting officers, one and all, looked their
astonishment upon the size of the crew, physically as well as in point
of number.
They looked at the craft and they looked at the boys and they looked at
each other.
But when the crew took up the matter of detail and explanation,
so thorough was the review they gave, that the officers ceased to
wonder that these agents had been selected and entrusted with so much
responsibility.
“This is about the only thing we do not have occasion to handle in this
craft,” said Billy, as he swiveled in all directions the machine gun in
the bow.
“It’s a handy little barker,” observed one of the officers, who
evidently knew all about guns.
Having completed their inspection and notes, a senior officer asked
Billy if the crew went with the craft.
“Until it is sold, only,” was Billy’s prompt reply.
“Sorry,” added the officer, “that we can’t have you in the balance.”
“We have traveled with three fighting flags since we have been flying
around on this side of the ocean. It keeps us guessing what will be the
next.”
Henri was repeating what he had said to the captain just before leaving
Dover.
“Have an eye out, or the Germans will get you yet,” smilingly warned
the senior officer.
“Who knows?” thought Billy.
The inspecting officers extended the freedom of the town to the young
aviators, but it was necessary for them to return to Dover immediately,
and having assurance that there had been nothing left undone connected
with their mission, they took flight that afternoon, fixing their
course from the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, the most conspicuous
building in the metropolis.
When they reached Dover the captain had a story that a few days ago
one of the destroyers had picked a German sea-plane out of the channel
waters off Harwich, and it had been announced that it carried a freight
of bombs, which were destroyed. The two men who formed its crew had
blandly refused to give any information as to their plans.
“And while I can’t swear to the story,” averred the captain, “it gave
me some worry about you. That kind of thing is pretty close.”
“Never saw another thing in the air that could catch us,” chirruped
Billy.
“Don’t you go to singing yourself into the idea that your ship is
the only thing afloat, my boy. The Germans have a few good birds
themselves.”
The captain never figured out of reason.
Billy and Henri soon after had an experience above the Straits which
convinced them that they were not the only speeders on the course, and
confirmed the captain’s opinion.
They had been flying through a North Sea mist and had just lifted to a
clearing when Billy, peering sideways around the rising bow, saw the
nose of another airship dart out from the sheltering mist. Sharp around
Billy twisted the wheel to save collision, and endeavored to swing away
from the intended attack of the German crew. Henri set the engines to
their maximum power, but it was too late to avoid the shot from the
fore gun of the opposing aircraft. There was a ripping and rending of
rods and stays. Billy turned the planes for the fall, and down they
went, their stricken craft helpless and beyond control.
Striking the water, the damaged seaplane settled like a bird with a
broken wing.
The craft from which the shot had been fired dived down to complete a
capture, and Billy and Henri, seeing the folly of attempting to resist
a stalwart crew of four, promptly surrendered.
“You ought to be spanked and put to bed, you naughty boys,” admonished
the giant pilot of the German craft, when he noted the youth of his
captives.
“But I guess you are smart enough,” he admitted, “or you could not have
made the play you did to get away. If it had not been for the gun we
might have been fooled.
“Give them room there, Franz, maybe we can find places for them in the
service.”
So they climbed aboard the big German flyer without a word, fully
determined, however, that they would not enter the service of Germany
any more than they had entered the service of England and France; but
very thankful to the good-natured Teutons who had rescued them after
plunging them into the sea.
Captain Johnson watched for his flying boys in vain, and when at last
the wrecked seaplane was towed in from the North Sea by an English
vessel he gave them up for lost.