SHAPING A NEW COURSE
The program planned for the next six days was a full one. It was
complicated somewhat by the fact that Ned left for Chicago a day later
and was gone from Saturday morning till Monday morning, making a stay in
the western city of five hours. That this was not a business trip was
indicated by the fact that he did not visit the local office of the
Universal Transportation Company. Mr. Napier and Mary Hope rode to the
depot with Ned when he boarded the Sunday afternoon Limited. His last
words to them were: “All right, I promise. We can’t possibly put this
thing off. But when we get back I bring Alan home and we’ll all take a
good long vacation and go somewhere—not in an airship.”
The _Herald_ editor examined the _Ocean Flyer_ Thursday, June 15. When
he left in the motor car that evening, he took Buck Stewart with him,
the arrangement being that the latter was to return the next morning and
from that time do all he could to help the busy young men. One specific
duty was to stand guard over the new airship as an additional precaution
against unexpected and undesired publicity.
Thursday evening, much to Buck’s regret, Ned and Alan made a late-hour
experimental flight, the company calculator having arrived. While the
Airship Boys, assisted by Roy Osborne, who was now formally booked as a
member of the crew, made speedy flights in all directions, even
venturing out to sea again for a short distance, the engineer was busy
in the “weather” tower of the plant. This important part of the works
was a fifty foot tower rising from a flat-roofed corner of the
setting-up room. Instruments in the tower automatically recorded wind
direction, duration and force. From the roof below, kite experiments
were also frequently in progress. From these, important meteorological
tables were made. Small captive balloons might also be seen anchored
from this roof at nearly all hours. On several occasions, the kites had
been sent up 19,000 feet by use of metal cables and power-driven drums.
The engineer’s work in the night tests was to elevate small balloons to
the level of the Flyer in flight and get exact data on the wind
pressure. From this and the anemometer variations recorded on the flying
aeroplane, it was possible to estimate the actual advance of the airship
under all aerometer readings.
Thursday night, Alan acted as engineer. Roy Osborne took the observer’s
post and Bob was in charge of the wireless. This was located in the
after part of the store room on the lower deck. The antennae of the
outfit followed the cables bracing the wing planes. But these, it was
decided, were to be altered and rigged on masts erected on the top deck
and tail truss.
The Airship Boys had been living in a private hotel. Before retiring
that night, future accommodations had also been provided for Buck. When
Ned awoke the next morning, a fuller significance of what had happened
in the previous twenty-four hours seemed to present itself to the boy.
He threw open the door of Alan’s adjoining room.
He began by announcing that he meant to go to Chicago the next day and
would be gone over Sunday. There was a time when Alan would have
answered this statement with some facetious inquiry about his sister
Mary. But that time had passed. “Got anything else on your mind?” was
his only reply.
“Several things,” responded Ned. “We haven’t told the _Herald_ yet about
the London supply of gasoline and ether.”
“It’s ‘petrol’ over there,” explained Alan. “Don’t you reckon they’ve
plenty of each?”
“Sure,” answered Ned a little contemptuously. “But we’re goin’ to be
there less than an hour. We ain’t goin’ to have time to go out shoppin’
for our fuel. And how are you goin’ to take over half a ton of ‘petrol’
on board? In quart cups? There must be a good supply of it and there
must be some sort of hose and pump.”
“That’ll have to be arranged for by cable.”
“And don’t forget this,” went on Ned. “You can’t count on finding
dehydrated sulphuric ether for sale like peanuts.”
“They don’t sell peanuts in London,” suggested Alan soberly.
“And they don’t generally sell this kind of ether,” answered Ned. “This
is one of the things on my mind. This ether must be specially made and
it should have been ordered by cable yesterday.”
“Righto,” answered Alan, who seemed in a specially good humor. “Why
don’t we take on some gasoline at St. Johns?” he added. “We can stop
there.”
“Because we won’t need it,” explained his chum. “And we ain’t goin’ to
load up with anything we don’t need. I’ll run into town and see the
_Herald_ about these supplies. When Stewart comes out you can tell him
he’s in charge of the larder. And I wish we could get that new sailing
chart at once. The lieutenant ought to go to the office and work on it
in the afternoon. He can come over here in the evening for the pressure
tests.”
Plans for certain alterations in the ether tanks having been talked over
while at breakfast, it was decided that Ned should go to New York on an
early train and have a personal conference with their journalist patron
while Alan and Bob went to the aeroplane factory and started the work on
the airship. While waiting for the editor to reach his office Ned did
some shopping in the clothing line, and at a sporting goods outfitter,
laid in special outdoor underwear, felt boots, wool jackets, fingered
mittens and heavy caps for five persons. He also made a note of what the
returning _Herald_ men would need, to be given to the editor to be
included in his many other cabled instructions.
“It’s a pity,” said the editor a little later when Ned met him, “that we
did not get together a few days earlier. We should have sent a man
across on the steamer with full instructions. However, we have five days
and our own cable. Don’t hesitate to tell me all you need.”
Ned carefully went over every preparatory detail, made memoranda of the
supplies needed, described the grade of gasoline and sort of ether
needed, and drew up suggestions how these articles were to be delivered
to the _Flyer_ in Hyde Park. There were also instructions to the men as
to typewriters, what facilities could be expected aboard, the kind of
clothing needed, the absolute necessity for promptness in reporting for
embarkation and a list of food supplies for the return trip. Then the
editor and Ned reviewed the plans for shipping the _Telegram_ matrices
in New York bay.
Close figuring showed that, while it was a fraction under ten miles from
the Aeroplane Company’s yards in Newark to the point off the old Battery
in East River, where the sea tug would be waiting, it would be advisable
to allow the newspaper operators at least twenty minutes for
transporting the forms to the Ship News wharf and to start the _Flyer_
on signal about ten minutes before the expiration of this period. This
meant that the double set of matrices would leave the _Herald_ office on
a fast motor at two o’clock; that the _Flyer_ would leave Newark about
two ten and, advancing under slow speed, pass over the waiting tug at
two twenty.
“If everything is ready and the packages are in position when we
approach,” suggested Ned, “show a white flag. If there is delay, show a
red flag. Then we will veer off and return when the white flag is
shown.”
“And the return?” asked the editor. “Getting away seems simple enough
and landing in Hyde Park, London, ought not be difficult, barring police
interference, which I hope to prevent through influence, but what can we
do to help you at this end on your return trip?”
“We’re going to try to deliver the copy and pictures right at your
door,” laughed Ned, “to-wit, on the roof of the _Herald_ building. It
isn’t going to be so difficult to pick up New York at night although we
may be flying pretty high. The coast lights will be our guides until we
are in sight of the glare of the city. Then we’re going to take a chance
and drop right down over it. We’ll keep to the north and avoid the sky
scrapers. Fortunately, the _Herald_ vicinity is pretty free of tall
buildings. All you can do is to show us our signal: a green diamond. Rig
up four search lights on the roof and let the lights point upward from
midnight till we get there. And keep the roof clear when you see our
lights. I’m hopin’ to drop your copy and picture bags between one and
two o’clock.”
The editor was aglow with enthusiasm.
“And the men?” he asked.
“Our signal will be showing at the Newark works and a motor will be
waiting there. Your men may be with you an hour later. And keep your
wireless man on duty. We may be calling at any time after we are within
two or three hours of the coast.”
After nearly two hours of close conference Ned and his patron adjourned
for luncheon, at which another phase of the coming experiment was
discussed:
“Do you think the perils of the voyage will upset our men?” asked the
editor.
“They might,” answered Ned, “if the machine was the fragile aeroplane
commonly in use. But I’ll see that the men have no excuse for getting
panic stricken. Before we start, I’ll put them in their staterooms and
lock the doors. They’ll hardly know when we get away. They’ll know
nothing as to our height or speed. All they’ll have to do is to pound on
their stories, eat when they’re hungry, and sleep when they get tired.”
“Are you going to lock young Stewart in a room?” inquired the _Herald_
manager.
“Not him,” chuckled Ned. “He ain’t that kind. He’s been promoted already
to the position of chef. Don’t worry about that boy. I wouldn’t be
surprised if he turned out an able ‘birdman’ before we get away.”
As Ned was to leave the next morning for Chicago, not to return until
Monday morning (the _Flyer_ was to sail Wednesday, June 21, at 2:10 P.
M.,) he took a taxicab to the New York-Chicago office after leaving the
editor. It was his intention to have a look at his mail, a talk with
Major Honeywell, and then catch the three o’clock train for Newark to
see how Alan and Bob were progressing with the alterations. To his
surprise he found the engineer in his office. He had followed Alan’s
suggestion at once and reached New York some time before noon.
“I thought I’d make your new chart to-day,” he explained, “so that you
could see it before you leave for Chicago.” The lieutenant’s big flat
drafting table was covered with United States hydrographic Atlantic
Coast charts and English Admiralty maps of the Irish and English sea
lines and harbors. The officer himself was at another table busy with
logarithms, trigonometry and almanacs of latitude and longitude.
“Fine,” exclaimed Ned, to whom such details were always fascinating.
“What have you found?” In another instant he had thrown off his coat and
was perched on a corner of the lieutenant’s desk.
“I’ve found something that may surprise you,” answered the engineer
laying down his pencil. “The continuation of the other St. Johns,
Newfoundland and Fastnet Light, Ireland, course won’t do at all. A great
circle course from New York is going to take you miles north of St.
Johns. And it’ll pass far to the north’ard of Fastnet Light.”
“Is that so?” responded Ned, not a little amazed. “What’s the distance?”
“Something over 3,200 miles.”
“Good,” exclaimed Ned. “That’s fine. Much over?”
“Exactly three thousand two hundred and eighteen and one-tenth miles.
And that beats a steamer course about two hundred miles. It figures
eleven hundred and sixty miles from New York to where you leave the
American shore line and it’s two thousand and fifty-eight and one-tenth
miles from that point to the center of London, three thousand two
hundred and eighteen and one-tenth miles of traveling.”
“Better and better,” exclaimed Ned.
“And now I’ll really surprise you, I think,” went on the engineer,
resuming his pencil. “In all of that first eleven hundred and sixty
miles you’ll hardly be out of sight of land. You’ll have capes, islands,
buoys and lights as steering points nearly all the time.” Ned’s eyes
opened and the engineer arose and led him to a big, great-circle chart
of the Atlantic ocean. “I suppose,” continued the calculator, “that you
think, after leaving New York harbor, you’ll pass out to sea at once.”
“Of course,” exclaimed Ned. “Where else could we go?”
“You’ll go east on Long Island sound to S. Norwalk, Connecticut. Then,
you’ll start over the land, cross Connecticut a little south of
Hartford, pass over Massachusetts ten miles north of Boston and come to
water again off Ipswich, Massachusetts, near Cape Ann. From that point
you’ll begin to take a calculated course, shaped from Thatcher Island
lights, and steer over the Gulf of Maine N. 65-1/2° E. till you raise
Matinicus Island. There you’ll veer to E. N. E. 1/4 E. till you’re over
Grand Manan in the mouth of the Bay of Fundy. Sailing ahead E. by N.
you’ll pass up the north arm of Fundy to the town of Amherst in Nova
Scotia. A new course E. 1/2 N. will take you across Northumberland
Straits and Prince Edward Island to Cape Anguille in west Newfoundland,
and then to the east coast at Fogo Island.”
“What’s that?” asked the interested Ned.
“Only a name,” was the engineer’s answer. “But it ought to be better
known for it is the exact place where a direct line from New York City
to London cuts across the easternmost sea line of our part of the
world.”
“And then?” continued his rapt listener.
“Fogo Island is 50° 5´ west longitude and 49° 43´ north latitude. With
an initial true course from this point of E. 1/4 S. you’ll hit one of
the Arran Islands in Galway Harbor, west coast of Ireland. In these
short courses across the states, the Gulf of Maine, Nova Scotia and
Newfoundland, a true course is exact enough considering your land and
sea marks—you’ll pass over islands and light houses every few miles.
But, when you leave Fogo it is another story. By night I’ll have you a
plotted chart of your ocean leg showing the magnetic variations and the
alterations you must make in your true course.”
“Then it’s almost a land journey for the first thousand miles?”
“On which you can watch summer guests at Mt. Desert Island, shore yachts
along the Maine coast and, like as not, deers scampering over the pine
tree covered rocks of New Brunswick. You could almost do it without a
compass.”