AN UNEXPECTED TRIBUTE
Alan gave little heed to these words. If Ned had sustained a severe
injury the flight of the _Ocean Flyer_ would come to an end at once.
When the boys had removed his clothing, the first sight of the rescued
boy’s leg was alarming. Midway between the knee and the thigh of the
right leg there was almost a complete band of red bruised flesh, the
indentation so deep and vivid that it resembled a cut. But the skin was
not broken and there was no blood.
“It’ll be sore,” explained Bob; “good and sore. But there’s nothing to
be scared about.” This he explained to the exhausted Ned. “And, with a
wash of alcohol, a little massaging and rest,” he concluded, “he’ll be
all right in a few hours except for a limp.”
While the boys washed and applied a light bandage to the bruised leg Ned
told what had happened.
“Your ‘pick-up crane’ is a frost,” he attempted to call above to Roy in
the pilot room as his spirits returned. “At least, it’ll have to be
improved. It catches all right but it holds too good.”
“Too good?” laughed Alan who was already bringing circulation in Ned’s
stiffened leg with gentle rubbing. “I reckon it wasn’t ‘too good’ for
you. If it hadn’t held as it did you might have been ornamenting some
Brooklyn church spire by this time.”
“Any way,” persisted Ned, “unless it is changed so that it releases its
prey easier, we’ll have to add a platform below to carry an extractor. A
rope ladder is a little risky for that work. I’ve had enough.”
“The crane fell and hit you, I suppose?” suggested Alan.
“It did,” answered Ned, “although it was all done so quickly that I
didn’t get the full details,” and he laughed feebly. “When you fellows
grabbed the package I let go and braced myself on the ladder to get my
back under the bundle. While I was doin’ this something gave my legs a
wallop. The crane had got loose and it fell. I was only payin’ attention
to the ladder and the crane made a sneak on me. Anyway, the next thing I
knew, to keep from fallin’, I had grabbed the crane and, talk about your
trapezes! I made a swing with it that was a wonder.”
“That’s when I saw you,” exclaimed Alan. “I was just gettin’ the machine
on her course up the Sound when that crane swung out in front of the
car. I ain’t over it yet. You weren’t graceful and your hair was flyin’
but you were stickin’ all right.”
“When I went out the first time,” went on Ned, now recalling the details
of his horrifying flight through the air, “I was holdin’ on to the arm
of the crane. But it was smooth and I couldn’t stick. I had to slide
down. When I got to the bottom my leg was inside.”
“It’s all that saved you,” repeated Alan.
“It’s the closest call I ever had,” went on Ned. “I hope I didn’t delay
things—much. What time is it?” he asked suddenly as he lifted himself
into a sitting posture. Alan looked at his watch and then called to Roy,
through the tube, for chronometer time.
“Two, thirty-three, thirty-five,” came the instant response.
“We passed the Battery at two, twenty-one, seventeen,” said Ned,
calculating. “We’ve been on our way twelve minutes and eight seconds.
Are we on the course, Alan?”
“What’s the course, Roy?” called Alan again.
“Northeast by East one-half East,” came the sharp answer.
“Good,” exclaimed Ned. “And what are we doin’ in the way o’ speed?”
“To tell the truth,” laughed Alan, “we’ve been just a trifle busy down
here and Roy has been alone. I haven’t made an observation since we
left. But we’ll know in a few minutes. Norwalk is only forty miles out.”
Without immediate reply Ned began to get on his feet. He did so at last
and by leaning on Alan was able to stand. Suddenly he caught his chum’s
shoulders.
“Now,” he exclaimed, “I remember what was on my mind! I’ve been tryin’
to remember it ever since I made my swing for life. When Roy called for
help down here I was watchin’ Brooklyn bridge just ahead of us. Did you
go under it or over it?”
“Over it. Why?”
“I knew we were so close to it that I was afraid you couldn’t get up
quickly enough. And then, just when I figured out that you’d go under
it, those Sound steamers and tugs showed up.”
“I had to go over,” explained Alan, “but there wasn’t much to spare. It
took all our surface and a sharp lift. But we made it.”
Ned was now standing in the store room door with a hand on the pilot
ladder. Suddenly his face changed and livened up as if he had just taken
a plunge in his morning tub.
“Boys,” he exclaimed, “I reckon I’m a fine example of selfishness. Buck,
and you too Bob! I reckon you’re thinkin’ I’m goin’ to write you letters
to thank you for what you’ve done. I’ve pretty near made a failure of
our start and I’ve put you boys where you had to take big chances. I’ll
have to be pretty good the rest of the trip. I won’t say much to Bob
because he knows. But Buck, you’re all right. Gimme your paw!” As Ned
tried to walk to Buck’s side he limped and would have fallen had not
Stewart caught him.
“You know why I did what I did?” laughed Buck. “I didn’t know what I was
doin’. I was crazy, out o’ my head from ‘sky sickness.’ I never knew
where I was nor what I was doin’ till it was all over. And then I
flunked.”
“You got scared when you’d done the trick,” exclaimed Alan. “And if you
were crazy when you did your lariat act, I’d like to see you in action
when you have your senses.”
“Right,” exclaimed Bob, slapping Buck on the shoulders. “Old top, you’re
a brick. You’re It and you belong. That’s all I’ve got to say except
that we’ve all lost a lot o’ good time not knowin’ you sooner.”
“Were you sick?” broke in Ned. “Sick from the motion of the car?”
“I certainly was,” replied Buck. “Good and sick.”
“And how are you now?” went on Ned sympathetically.
“I guess it’s like hiccoughs. You must have scared it out of me. I’m
fine.”
“You’re all right, Buck,” exclaimed Ned, catching the reporter by the
shoulders anew. “Bob’s right. I hope you’ll stick to us. And you’ve got
a big credit with me. But now, why don’t you subordinates follow
instructions? Didn’t I order you all to your stations? Get busy. We’ll
talk this over when we’ve got time to spare.”
Bob laughed, saluted and hurried aft to the purring engine. Buck looked
about for a moment in an embarrassed way, having no specific duties, and
then, his eyes falling on the life buoy lines lying tangled on the
floor, he fell to getting them in order. Ned, stumbling to the ladder
with Alan’s assistance, was about to draw himself up when he paused.
“I’ve just thought of it,” he remarked with a smile. “Major Honeywell
and the _Herald_ must have thought us a jolly lot.”
“Why?”
“From what I can recall, there wasn’t an answering hail or a parting
salute from the _Flyer_ when she passed over the tug. Was there?”
“I guess you’re right. I didn’t see it after I got the crane on the
line. As a matter of fact,” continued Alan, “I haven’t had a look below
since we picked up the baggage. I don’t know how high we are nor what is
below us, land or water.”
“In that case,” said Ned, drawing himself slowly up the ladder, “after
we passed, it must have looked as if the _Flyer_ had no one aboard. We
should have dropped a message or waved a handkerchief or dipped our
colors. By the way,” he added, “the baggage is all right I suppose?
Where is it?”
“Buck,” called out Alan, “stow that package away safely. It’s a valuable
bundle.”
As Ned drew himself stiffly into the pilot room and Alan was about to
follow up the ladder Buck called to him.
“There’s two bundles. One of ’em is nearly loose.” Alan dropped back and
stepped into the engine room. For the first time he examined the
carefully wrapped parcel that had nearly cost Ned his life. Lashed to
the stout cords tied around the big bundle was a small, oblong
pasteboard box—now crushed and flat.
“Looks to me as if this is what caused the trouble,” commented Alan as
he cut the strings holding the small package and saw a deep mark across
the box’s top where the arm of the crane had undoubtedly cut into the
extra package. As the broken box fell apart, a bunch of crushed and torn
roses fell to the floor. The box bore the name of a well known New York
florist who caters to the steamship trade. Among the fragrant fragments
was a waterproof envelope in which Alan found a card. It bore his
sister’s name, “Miss Mary Hope.” And, written in a small hand above
this, the words: “To the crew of the _Ocean Flyer_ with my earnest
wishes for a safe voyage.”
In spite of the smile on Alan’s face there was a little thickness in his
voice when he tried to make a joke of the affair to Bob and Buck.
“I guess she really meant ’em for Ned and you,” said Bob, “but I’m goin’
to take her at her word. She’s been thinkin’ of this for a long time. It
kind o’ sets me back. But it’s like her. She’s a dandy, Alan.”
There was a sudden sound at the speaking tube.
“Hurry along, Alan. Roy’s got to get at his work. Tell Buck to rig up
something for me to sit on. Get a move on you!”
“In a minute,” replied Alan, chuckling. “We’ve just found a box of
flowers tied to the big package.”
“Flowers?”
“Yes. Roses for the crew of the _Flyer_.”
“From the _Herald_?”
“Got Mary’s card in ’em.”
There was no response but a scrambling on the metal floor of the pilot
room and a sight, through the open store room door, of a pair of legs on
the ladder made all the boys smile.
“Don’t come down,” shouted Alan. “I’ll bring ’em up. We’ve got too much
to do to be botherin’ with flowers.”
As Alan smiled, crowded the fragments of the blossoms back in the
crushed box and hurried away, Buck looked inquiringly at Bob.
“Sure,” said the latter with a wink. “You bet your life. Bad too.”
In the pilot room there was not much time for admiring flowers. With a
slight blush and a few words of appreciation both boys gave quick
attention to the car, its course and the work before them. The Sound
bridges and even the tallest of New York’s skyscrapers had long since
disappeared. Quick glances at the land and water beneath and at the
compass showed Ned and Alan that Roy knew his business: he was on his
course to the fraction of a degree and he was keeping close to the two
thousand foot level as directed.
Over the operator’s table hung Course Chart No. 1. On this the distance
between the Battery in New York harbor and Ipswich, Massachusetts, was
set down as 187 nautical or 215 land miles. And the first leg of this
course ended at South Norwalk on the Sound. The true course by compass
to Ipswich was N. 51° E. But, with a magnetic variation of 11 degrees
W., this made the magnetic course N. 62° E., or, by compass points, N.
E. by E. 1/2 E.
Roy repeated his direction, his estimated height and the time by
chronometer.
“Very good,” answered Ned. “Keep her so.”
Then he seated himself at the operator’s table and, for the first time,
made use of the tables prepared by their office calculator.
“It’s hardly worth while,” he explained to Alan, “since we’re in sight
of known landmarks, but I want to see how it comes out.”
He noted the automatic register of the anemometer for speed, averaged
this for speed per minute since they started, deducted the loss in
forward flight caused by the quartering southeast breeze as set down in
their calculated tables and then figured the actual flight. When he had
done this part of his work he frowned.
“Two miles a minute,” he exclaimed. “Pretty slow.”
“It is,” explained Roy, “but it isn’t a fair test. I was down to
three-quarters speed during our little unpleasantness and we lost time
pickin’ up the package and gettin’ up over the bridge. I’ll keep her
there till you pass over Norwalk so you can check her speed.”
“It’ll be beneath us in less than five miles,” announced Ned. “My
figures were made at two o’clock, thirty-eight minutes and forty-seven
seconds. We were seventeen and a half minutes out and had done
thirty-five miles. Beyond Norwalk we’ll have to hit her up. If we can’t
do three miles a minute we may as well call it off.”
“When’ll that bring us to Ipswich?” asked Roy. “Here’s Norwalk,” he
added quickly.
Before he joined Roy and Ned for a look at the brisk Connecticut town
with its factory stacks, long fishing wharfs and deep river harbor, Alan
made a calculation himself to answer Roy’s inquiry.
“We’ll cover the distance to Norwalk by two forty-one o’clock. From
there to Ipswich it’s one hundred and seventy-five miles. If the _Flyer_
has a three mile a minute gait in her, that’ll take us less than an
hour—fifty-eight minutes and twenty seconds. We’re due at Ipswich and
the ocean again at thirty-nine minutes and twenty seconds after three
o’clock. Call it three forty to be safe,” he added laughing.
“Got your land chart ready?” asked Ned.
“Everything is in place,” answered Roy.
“Alan,” exclaimed Ned, “take the wheel and finish your trick. Roy, you
had better begin your observations and log. Norwalk is just below us.
Take your station and give your orders.”
Each boy sprang to his work, Alan to the wheel and Roy to the desk. As
Alan saw the little city spread out beneath him, 2,000 feet below but
sharp and distinct in the now clear, sunshiny June mid-afternoon, he
reported:
“Town beneath; two, forty-one, seventeen o’clock and the course is
northeast by east one-half east.”
“Make it so,” responded Roy instantly. Then he entered the time on his
log and went through the form of checking the course. “Steady ahead and
keep a lookout for town of Derby, twenty miles. Landmarks, red water
tower north of town and small park with two cannon near center of town.”
“Aye, aye,” was Alan’s reply and the new watch was set.
“I’ll take a look over the ship,” said Ned. “Give her all she’ll take.
It’s full speed from now to the end.”
Stepping out into the gallery the young commander sighed. Able to walk
only with difficulty he stationed himself near the instrument case and
the aerometer. As the wind cups of this flew faster and faster he
watched them as if fascinated. He knew from the gale pushing against him
that their speed was increasing. Then he hobbled back into the pilot
room and stood by the speed register. It had increased to two and
one-third miles a minute. Never had any other man driven vehicle passed
through the air at that speed. But it was not enough. Slowly, the
indicator arm trembling, the needle reached a shade over two and
one-half miles and then paused.
“Is that your best?” asked Ned calmly and slowly.
“She’s got it all,” responded Alan, his eyes on the compass binnacle and
his hands gripping the rudder wheel.
“Very good,” answered Ned as if in deep thought, “hold her to it.”