WHAT A REPORTER SAW IN THE DARK
Stewart, the reporter who had been working in the American Aeroplane
Company’s plant for several days and who had telephoned the tip on the
first flight of the wonderful new machine, reached the _Herald_ office a
few minutes ahead of his schedule. He was hot and excited. As he hurried
to Mr. Latimer’s desk he drew from his pocket a wad of copy—a part of
his story already prepared. The night city editor looked at the clock—he
seemed always watching the clock.
“Twelve ten,” Mr. Latimer began without question or comment and waving
back the proffered manuscript. “We want a column. Take an hour and do it
right. Tell what you saw—don’t speculate. Tell about the new machine,
and don’t be technical. We’ll make the ‘lead’ when we see what you’ve
got—”
“This is ready now,” interrupted Stewart, mopping his brow. “I did it on
the train.”
“Use it in your story; put it together yourself. It’s for the last
edition. By the way, you didn’t find what they’re going to do with the
new airship?”
“Everything but that,” confessed Stewart. “No one in the factory seems
to know. But it seems to me that they’ll certainly use it first to cut
down the time on that New York-Chicago airship line. Four or five hours
to Chicago would be quite a card.”
“Why not fifteen hours across the Atlantic?” asked Mr. Latimer with a
significant twinkle in his eyes.
“You’re right,” exclaimed Stewart. “I hadn’t thought of that. Say,
that’s great; first airship across the ocean. Sure! They can do it.
That’s the idea. That’s my ‘lead’—”
The night city editor raised his hand.
“Don’t bother about the ‘lead.’ Do what I told you: write what you saw
and a description of the machine. And you might start right away if you
like.”
Stewart, coat off and pipe going, was just well into his story when
Chambers reported from Governor’s Island. He had seen Colonel Grant.
“But,” explained the reporter to Mr. Latimer over the telephone, “he
said it was too late to talk to-night. He’s offered to prepare a
statement for me to-morrow.”
“What did he say to-night?” snapped the night city editor.
“Well, he said America ought to be proud of its advance in aeronautics;
that there were great possibilities in aerial navigation—”
“Yes,” broke in Mr. Latimer, “but did you think to mention what I told
you to ask him? What military prestige it would give a country to own
the first aeroplane that could fly two hundred miles an hour?”
“Yes, sir,” was the prompt answer, “but he said he’d rather not be
quoted on that.”
“What was it?”
“He said he rather thought it might give prestige to any one of the
great nations and that if America had such a ship that it ought to keep
it and not let some European government snap it up. He said, as a
nation, he thought we were rather behind the other powers in the
development of the airship in a military and naval way.”
“Did you promise not to quote him?”
“No, sir. But—”
“Glidden,” called Mr. Latimer to that young man, who had just returned,
“here’s Chambers on the wire at Governor’s Island. He’s had a talk with
Colonel Grant: hot stuff about neglect of government to develop airships
for naval and military purposes: thinks our new aeroplane gives us
balance of power among the big nations. Take it and get up a good story
on it. Here’s Glidden, Chambers,” he continued, turning to the telephone
again, “he’ll take your stuff.”
A moment later Glidden was at a desk and the waiting Chambers had been
switched to him. With almost one movement the more experienced Glidden
caught up the receiver and, with a piece of paper rescued from the floor
and a stub of a pencil borrowed from a man next to him, was ready.
“Shoot it, Chambers,” was his salutation and the interview was under
way.
Several pages of Stewart’s story had now reached Mr. Latimer’s desk.
Before he gave it his attention, he took up Winton’s matter on the
Airship Boys and glanced hurriedly through it. This apparently called
for no comment and he passed it at once to Dick, the head copy reader.
“Here’s the first of that two-column story for the last edition. It’s
the last ‘add.’ Use all of it. There’ll be a talk with Colonel Fred
Grant to follow the main story.”
Dick shuffled the sheets together without a glance at the words on them,
spiked the pages on a spindle, readjusted his pipe and raised his green
eye shade.
“Who’s writin’ the story?” was his only response.
“Stewart,” said Mr. Latimer.
“A cub?” grunted Dick as he looked at the watch on the blotter before
him. Then he jerked his head to show the contempt all old copy readers
feel for inexperienced reporters. “It’s twelve thirty,” he added as a
part of his groan.
“He may not be a cub after to-night,” was Mr. Latimer’s tart rejoinder
as he at last tackled Stewart’s copy.
“At ten twenty o’clock last night,” Stewart’s story began, “an airship
that is undoubtedly destined to make the first flight across the
Atlantic ocean, was given a secret test from the yards of the American
Aeroplane Company’s plant in South Newark.
“That the experimental flight was successful in every way is attested by
the fact that this newest and most complete aeroplane was in the air
twenty-five minutes and attained a speed of between 180 and 200 miles an
hour. The flight was cloaked in mystery and the only spectators were the
inventors and owners of the airship, the superintendent and the
president of the Aeroplane Company and a reporter for the _Herald_.
“While every effort has been made to keep any intelligence of the new
marvel from reaching the public at the present time, the record breaking
test made last night was observed and timed. This mechanical,
sky-piercing meteor was driven by man thirty or forty miles out to sea
and, concealed by the shadows of night, it returned successfully and
unseen directly over the skyscrapers of New York.”
Without reading further Mr. Latimer reached for a pad of copy paper, a
pencil and his shears. In a few minutes Stewart’s carefully prepared
story had been transformed by scissors, paste pot, interlineations and
new lines into this:
“This mechanical sky-piercing meteor last night set what may be the
ultimate record for man’s aerial flight. Three miles in sixty seconds or
one hundred and eighty miles an hour, is the last proof of man’s
complete conquest of the air. With London but fifteen hours from New
York, the crossing of the Atlantic is assured. And, in the language of
Colonel Fred Grant, ‘this assures the superiority of the United States
as a naval power.’
“This new marvel was given its initial test last night. At ten twenty
o’clock the airship that is destined to revolutionize aeronautics, rose
mysteriously from the yards of the American Aeroplane Company’s plant in
South Newark. Within the next twenty-five minutes it had darted forty
miles straight out to sea and then, concealed by the shadows of night,
returned successfully and unseen, directly over the sleeping skyscrapers
of lower New York.
“This historic flight, cloaked in darkness, was made with no spectators
other than the inventors and owners of the airship, the superintendent
and the president of the aeroplane works and a reporter for the
_Herald_. While every effort had been made to keep intelligence of the
wonderful invention from the public at the present time, an account of
the secret test as well as a complete description of the aeroplane
itself, is given herewith in detail.”
By the time the copy boy had laid Stewart’s next batch of copy on the
night city editor’s desk Mr. Latimer had passed all of the first “take,”
marked “lead to come,” over to Dick, the head copy reader, and the big
aeroplane “beat” was on its way into print. Few changes were made in the
rest of Stewart’s story. Having finished his first few pages and reached
the real narrative, he wrote rapidly and easily.
The inexperienced young reporter had done his work well. For several
days he had been in the service of the Aeroplane Company as a common
workman in the yards. In that time, with his eyes open and by skillful
questioning, he had succeeded in striking up an acquaintance with one of
the skilled enginemen working on the new car. From this man he had
wormed the general details of the aircraft and learned that a test of
the completed aeroplane was to be made.
These things were not told in his story but he did describe graphically
and in a way that made Mr. Latimer nod his head in approval, everything
to be seen by the eye from the time the great tandem-planed sky vehicle
was rolled out into the yard and lifted itself cloudward until it sank
in the same spot again twenty-five minutes later.
When those pages of his story reached the desk Mr. Latimer rose and
hurried to the busy writer’s side.
“How did you know they were going to pull this off to-night?” he asked.
“I didn’t. But I guessed it would be at night. I meant to watch each
night—”
“Where were you?”
“On the roof.”
“You’re doing very well. Good stuff,” was his superior’s comment. “Get
it in a column.”
There wasn’t a great deal that the young reporter could write of the
actual flight. The ship-like structure had been wheeled out of the gloom
of the canvas-sided setting-up room into the yellow glare of half a
dozen yard torches. It rumbled heavily—more like a heavy truck than the
flimsy airships Stewart had seen. Then, for some minutes, several
persons had passed back and forth by means of a step ladder into an
enclosed part of the great, metallic-glinting structure. From the lights
that flared up and died out in the big torches he knew that his first
night’s vigil was to be rewarded with something.
“At ten fifteen o’clock,” he described in his story, “only a vast
expanse of metal, cables and truss could be seen vaguely as those busy
about the towering superstructure moved a torch or climbed into or out
of the mammoth enclosed frame. Just before ten twenty o’clock an engine
started suddenly somewhere within the ship-like body of the winged
wonder. A little later, a brief burst of light within the central
enclosure threw into sudden view two rows of flashing portholes. Like
the bow of a miniature ocean steamer, the front of the shadowy structure
stood, for a moment, clearly defined in the night.
“Halfway up the side of the vessel extended a railing-protected gallery
that indicated two decks. Along the lower of these ran a second gallery.
The forward part of the upper deck was plainly a pilot house, from the
rounded front of which, through two small heavily glassed openings, shot
antennaelike feelers of light into the black factory yard. Behind this
section the skeletonlike gallery led astern along what were apparently
three more rooms. Passing these, the gallery ascended the rounded side
of the giant car and disappeared sternward in the form of a protected
path or bridge. The front of the lower deck resembled the dark hold of a
freight vessel. In the rear, a door opening from this gallery revealed,
through a glare of light, an engine room, now the center of much
activity.
“Herein two young men hung over a puzzle of levers, wheels and valves
while a third was just climbing into the gallery by means of a drop
ladder or landing stage.
“‘What’s the use of all this illumination?’ called the young man just
mounting the machine. ‘Why not send out cards?’ he added, laughing.
“One of the boys in the engine room stuck his head outside, glanced
about and chuckled. As he disappeared within again, there was a snap and
the lights outlining the air machine turned black. Then came the renewed
sound of feet hurrying back and forth on metal runways; doors opened and
closed and, where deck lights had flooded the strange craft, only the
thin rays of electric hand torches indicated persons moving about. One
of several men on the ground below now made his way up the ladder to the
landing stage and by this to the lower deck gallery, where two of the
moving lights were suddenly focussed. Words passed in low tones and, in
a few moments, the glow of a green-shaded light appeared through the
suddenly reopened door of the pilot house.
“Almost at the same time, but from the distant offices of the aeroplane
factory, broke out the staccato of a wireless sender in operation. Those
on the lower gallery waited in silence until a voice called from the
pilot house:
“‘All right, Ned; fine and dandy; the operator says _success and
speed_.’
“‘Good,’ was the quick response. ‘Come on down, Bob; we’re off.’
“As the light in the pilot cabin winked out, the same voice continued,
‘Good-bye, Mr. Osborne. We’ll be back in half an hour. Stay by the
wireless. We’ll keep in touch with you every few minutes.’ ‘Good-bye,’
called another voice and then the man who had just mounted the landing
ladder made his way quickly to the ground.”
When Stewart’s account of the aeroplane test had reached this point,
Dick, the copy reader, shuffled the pages of the last “take” like a deck
of cards and snorted.
“This is fine,” he said, with a despairing look, addressing Mr. Latimer,
“but I thought he was goin’ to tell something. Here’s six hundred words
and he hasn’t got anywhere yet—”
“Let it stand,” was Mr. Latimer’s snappy order. “It’s good stuff.”
“Simultaneously,” continued Stewart’s story, “the sound of the engine in
operation deepened into an almost inaudible note. Then this was doubled
as if a second power had been put in operation. A shaded light shone in
the engine room and the pilot house door opened and closed. There was
the _tap-tap_ of swift footsteps on the lower gallery, one of those
aboard sprang up the steps to the top gallery and then a light flashed
at intervals along the ladderlike runway on the rear truss. Some one was
inspecting the shadowy bridge.
“Far in the rear the hurrying figure dropped through what seemed a small
manhole in the truss frame. Half within the tapering, spiderlike
construction the person appeared to press a button. There was a sharp
buzz in the pilot cabin. Then the figure with the light ran swiftly
forward inside the hollow frame of the tail of the airship and
disappeared through a self-closing door into the engine cabin.
“Two powerful engines were apparently in full operation. There was the
sound of a quick voice in the engine room as if someone were shouting
through a tube.
“‘All ready here and astern, Ned,’ could be distinguished. Then, at the
resonant single tap of a gong in reply, powerful clutches must have been
instantly applied. The aeroplane’s propellers began their wide sweep.
Faster and faster they moved, until, as the closed engine room door
opened once more and one of the young men passed out onto the gallery,
the wide-reaching metal bird suddenly sprang forward. But it was only
for a short distance. Within fifty feet, it lifted in the air and, once
off the ground, its bow darted skyward like the beak of a frightened
bird.
“‘Don’t forget your lights!’ yelled the figure on the gallery as the
airship swept upward, ‘and keep the wireless goin’.’ While he was
speaking the swift propellers had already carried the car beyond
hearing.”