FRENCH LEAVE
It was a wild enough scheme that the commander unfolded, and none who
heard it dared predict success. But all acknowledged that there was a
chance of pulling it off, and, in the end, all agreed to it. Whether
it could be worked depended first of all on whether General Roza would
consent to the repairing of the _F 8’s_ wireless equipment by members
of the crew. If he smelled a rat, as the saying is, and refused to
allow any one aboard there was no hope for it. They went over the
project many times, arranging every detail so far as was possible, and
renewed the discussion after the evening meal had been eaten. In fact,
the subject held them until bedtime, and Jack, for one, found his brain
still busy with it long after sleep should have come to him.
In the morning, as early as he thought advisable, Mr. Weeks made his
way to General Roza’s house and, after a wait of half an hour, secured
an audience. Several of the general’s staff were present, but the
commander was quite satisfied to have them hear his proposal. First
he explained that, contrary to his own judgment, his command were in
favor of making every effort to secure the payment of the fines imposed
on them, without, however, acknowledging the justice of them. General
Roza’s sharp eyes brightened as he nodded commendingly. But, continued
Mr. Weeks, they were all agreed that such a message as the general
proposed sending would have no results. It was necessary that his
government should have the statement of their detention confirmed by
them.
“Of late,” he said, “there have been frequent cases of kidnapping and
arrest of American citizens, with accompanying demands for ransom. And
there have been, also, numerous hoaxes attempted, as the case of an
American named Schalk who disappeared from his hotel in Laredo, Texas,
just over the border, and conspired with three Mexicans to secure a
ransom of ten thousand dollars from my government, which ransom he
proposed to share with the Mexicans. You see, gentlemen, my government
would have no way of assuring themselves that your statement was
correct and truthful. It would be an easy enough thing for any one to
send such a message as you propose and sign General Roza’s name to it.”
The general frowned dubiously.
“But,” observed one of the others, a fat major of cavalry whose chest
was adorned with enough medals to stock a museum, “is it not so that
your Department of the Navy will miss this balloon that you have
unlawfully sailed into our territory? Will it not suppose that you have
been――ah――detained, just as the message will state?”
The commander shrugged lightly. “I think not, sir. Many things may
happen to a dirigible. We might have been blown out over the Gulf, as,
indeed, we were, and lost. We might have run out of fuel or had engine
trouble and been forced to descend at some point beyond communication
by telegraph. There are numerous explanations of our failure to return,
sir, any one of which would be accepted by my superiors in preference
to the real explanation.”
Silence fell. After a moment General Roza asked: “What, then, señor,
would you propose?”
“I had no solution, General, until one of my younger officers, Ensign
Clode, who is our wireless operator, suggested that if a radio message
could be dispatched to an American station perhaps San Antonio or
Brazos――it would be recognized as coming from the _F 8_ and so known as
authentic.”
“I had forgotten that your balloon is equipped with wireless,”
returned the general. “But, señor, how could I know what words you were
sending?” the general smiled craftily.
“The plan was to have one of your own officers do the sending, General.”
“Ah! In such case――――”
“_Un momento!_” interrupted one of the others. “Señor, I have heard
that it is possible to tell from the sound, the loudness, perhaps, of a
wireless message at what distance away it was sent. That is so?”
“In a way, yes. It is possible to say that the sending instrument is
located at from three to four hundred miles, or at from six to eight
hundred, as the case may be, but it cannot be told in what direction.
I see what you have in mind, sir, but one receiving a message from
the _F 8_ would be unable to locate her position with any degree of
exactness. Let me illustrate, please.” The commander picked a pair of
dividers from the table before him. “We will suppose that our message
is picked up at a point here, six hundred miles away. The receiver will
know that it has come from a distance of, roughly, between five and
seven hundred miles. By swinging his compass in this manner, spacing
first at five hundred miles and then at seven hundred, he will describe
two arcs passing from the border of Mexico on the west of him to the
border on the east, or, it may be, to the coast. The _F 8_ may be
located anywhere within the space created by the two arcs, a space some
two hundred miles broad and, perhaps, six hundred miles long. You see,
then, how impossible it is for him to place his pencil anywhere on the
map and say ‘She is here!’ He can only guess, gentlemen.”
The fat major nodded. “He speaks truth. I have so had it explained to
me before. Besides, señors, for that matter, what if the Americans were
able to say where their balloon is? What could they do?” He smiled and
shrugged. “We are not at war with the excellent United States.”
Silence again ensued. Then: “Have we one who knows how to send these
wireless telegraph messages?” inquired the general.
“_Si, si_, the Lieutenant Estabano,” was the reply.
“Then I see no reason why the Señor Comandante’s way is not well,”
said General Roza. He looked inquiringly about the circle. All nodded.
“_Mucho bueno, señor._ So it shall be. Let us now compose this message.”
“I have neglected to tell you, General,” said Mr. Weeks, “that before
our radio outfit can be used some slight repairs are necessary. When
we damaged our rudder we also sustained injury to our wireless
equipment. This could not be remedied during flight, sir, but here the
matter may be speedily attended to. Ensign Clode assures me that two
hours’ work will put the instrument in order again.”
“Ha!” ejaculated the fat major.
“Hum!” said the general. “Indeed?”
The commander’s expression was guileless as he looked inquiringly from
one to the other. “The delay will be trifling,” he said.
“Under strict guard, why not, however?” asked one of the officers.
“Señor, how many would be needed to make these so trifling repairs?”
“I think my two wireless men can do it alone, sir.”
“This Ensign Clode, señor? And one other? Perhaps yourself?” asked the
general carelessly.
“Myself, no,” smiled the commander. “I know little of the instruments.
Mr. Clode and Mr. Gandell are the officers for the work.”
“This Señor Gandell, he is the large, so broad gentleman, _si_, with
the great voice?” inquired the general.
“Yes, that describes him,” agreed the commander.
“Yes? Then I do not understand.” General Roza raised his brows and
smiled blandly. “The young gentleman I met so interestingly on the
train not long ago, Señor Sterling, is it not? He, also, you told me,
is a wireless――what do you say?――_operador?_”
Mr. Weeks did some quick thinking. He did not recall telling the
general any such thing, but he might have done so, and to arouse
suspicion was the last thing he wanted to do. He nodded carelessly.
“Yes, señor, Mr. Sterling is our junior operator. Mr. Clode and Mr.
Gandell are the others. I suggested Mr. Gandell because he has more
experience.”
“Certainly, that is true. And yet this Señor Sterling, I like him. I
think he must be a most clever young man. Señor, do me the favor to
allow Señor Sterling to assist in these repairs. You do not object?”
“Not in the least,” responded the commander heartily.
“That, then, is decided. Is it now that you would begin, señor?”
“The sooner the better, general. Whenever you say, however.”
“_Bueno!_ In an hour, señor, have the gentlemen at the balloon. You
will, I hope, not object that one or two of my young officers attend?
It would be well, perhaps, for them to learn something of this wireless
telegraph.”
“That is quite satisfactory, sir. In an hour, then. General! Gentlemen!”
Mr. Weeks saluted and retired.
Outside, however, his expression of satisfaction diminished, and when
he rejoined his waiting comrades he acknowledged with a wry smile that
the general had out-maneuvered him. “Still,” he added, “we won’t say
die yet. Mr. Clode, are you game?”
“Rather, sir!”
“And you, Sterling?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good! We’ve got an hour yet. I want you chaps to sit down here and
listen to what Mr. Jordan and I have to say. If we put this thing
through it’ll be because you remember what we’re going to tell you.
Every one else outside, please, and give the word if any of Roza’s men
approach. I don’t want to be caught talking to Clode and Sterling. I’m
afraid our friend Tito is a bit suspicious already!”
For the better part of that hour the two boys listened while the
commander and Lieutenant Jordan talked. Now and then a question was
asked, but for the most part the older men gave instructions without
interruption. Then Mr. Weeks glanced at his watch and arose.
“That’s all, I think. Keep your heads, boys, and do your best. And
good luck!” He shook hands with each, and so did Mr. Jordan, and then,
Hugh and Jack looking rather thoughtful and serious, they joined the
others outside.
The day was clear and a blue sky, swept clean of clouds, arched from
horizon to horizon. A mild wind blew from the southeast; scarcely more
than a ten-knot breeze. The cracked and flaking mud walls of the houses
along the wide, rambling street were golden in the sunlight. From
the drill ground the call of a bugle floated. At the far end of the
village, southward, the upper part of the _F 8_ was visible, a silvery
sheen above the roofs and discouraged-looking trees. The lazy, sleepy
town went about its business as usual, which is to say that a score of
persons, ragged soldiers, slatternly women, half-clad Indians, were in
sight. Mangey dogs skulked and quarreled.
“Wish we could have started this toward evening,” said Mr. Weeks, “but
he wouldn’t have fallen for it. Well, all ready, fellows? Let’s go!”
Nonchalantly the party turned southward along the sandy street,
leaving the sentry before the hut to doze again undisturbed. Ahead
went Hugh and Jack, at a little distance behind loitered Mr. Jordan
and Mr. Gandell. The others followed still more slowly. The Americans
had become well-known figures in the little town by now and all who
met them gave them greeting, sometimes a muttered word, sometimes a
cheerful “_Buenos dias_,” accompanied by a flash of white teeth. In
front of General Roza’s headquarters, above which a green and yellow
flag with a single white star flapped lazily, several officers were
standing, among them Captain Fosdes and Colonel Rodas.
“Mr. Jordan,” called the commander, “I’ll join you later and see how
you’re getting on. If anything’s wanted let me know. They won’t need
you, Pete.”
Mr. Jordan continued after Hugh and Jack, Mr. Gandell joined the
commander and Lieutenant Traine, who had stopped at headquarters, and
Mate Wason, left to his own resources, thrust his hands in his pockets
and wandered idly on along the village street. The high-voiced bell
above the little church pealed merrily.
In the blue shadow of the _F 8_ a score of soldiers loitered, smoking
their eternal cigarillos, playing cards, dozing. Two dandified young
lieutenants and a saturnine non-commissioned officer were waiting. Of
these only one of the lieutenants spoke enough English to make himself
understood. Lieutenant Jordan remained below, well away from the boat,
while Hugh and Jack, closely followed by the lieutenants, climbed the
ladder to the engine cockpit, and from there went aft to the radio
station.
The dirigible had become an old story in Perdero and no longer aroused
curiosity or interest, and, save for the guard, only a few children and
old men were about. Hugh and Jack went to work in a very business-like
manner, testing, disconnecting, examining, while the lieutenants
lounged about and forever got in the way. When one of the boys went
below to seek a new part or a tool one of the Mexicans went closely on
his heels, a hand on the butt of his revolver.
“Suspicious guys,” murmured Hugh disgustedly to Jack as they leaned
over the bench. At intervals either Hugh or Jack seated himself
and tapped the key. Nothing resulted and they once more set about
disconnecting wires and connecting them up again. In this way more than
an hour passed. The lieutenants were frankly bored. Finally Hugh shook
his head. “We can’t do anything without a piece of heavy copper wire,”
he declared. “And I can’t find any down there.” He called to Lieutenant
Jordan and made the want known.
“Right-o! I’ll see what I can do,” answered Mr. Jordan. “Maybe the
general can scare up something. I’ll go see.”
Pending his return the boys rested, Hugh trying, not very successfully,
to explain to the lieutenants what the difficulty was. Mr. Jordan was
gone nearly a half hour, and when he returned he was accompanied by
Mr. Weeks, Mr. Traine, Captain Fosdes and two more of General Roza’s
officers. Captain Fosdes had somewhere secured a short length of
copper wire, and with this the boys again resumed their efforts. The
dirigible was lying steady, nose to the wind, held fore and aft by her
cables. The forward cable was made fast to a tree, the after one to a
heavy post sunk into the ground. Mr. Weeks and Mr. Traine had sought
the slight shade afforded by the tree, and the Mexican officers had
followed them. Jack, lifting his head from his work, gazed over the
side. Mr. Jordan had joined the soldiers further aft and appeared to be
showing them a card trick. Jack could hear the laughter of the men as
they watched. As he looked he saw Mr. Gandell lounge through the group
and join Mr. Jordan. Jack bent again over the bench until his head was
close to Hugh’s.
“All set!” he whispered.
“How’s your nerve?” asked Hugh.
“All right. I’ll take the skinny one, Hugh.”
Hugh nodded, busy with a screw-driver. “Let’s go,” he muttered.
He tossed the screw-driver down and set his fingers on the key. A
crackling sound rewarded him. The two lieutenants stepped closer,
exclaiming. Hugh stood upright and crossed to the side of the cockpit.
“Mr. Weeks, I think we’ve found the trouble, sir,” he called.
“Good, Mr. Clode! Are you all ready to send?”
“All ready, sir!”
“_Cast off!_”
The commander’s voice rang out sharply and the peaceful scene suddenly
became a turmoil. At the signal, Mr. Gandell and Mr. Weeks sprang
to the cables beside them and slashed with keen knives. For a brief
instant, taken by surprise, the Mexicans only stared. Then cries of
warning filled the air, the officers sprang forward, and the soldiers,
scrambling to their feet, rushed to aid. But the knives were sharp,
and Lieutenants Traine and Jordan, automatics leveled, called a halt.
The forward cable parted with a loud snap, and at the same instant
Lieutenant Gandell’s knife slashed through the last strand of the after
rope. The _F 8_ swung, dipped and began to rise.
In the boat the two lieutenants on guard had sped to the side in alarm
and consternation and were gesticulating and calling wildly. It was
plain that neither had any desire for a voyage in the balloon. Nor, for
that matter, were they to have one, for before the dirigible had fully
realized her freedom they were seized from behind and unceremoniously
dumped overboard. One, in falling, caught a strut leading from the port
engine platform aft to the hull and clung to it for a moment, shrieking
wildly for help. But when the ground began to fall away beneath him he
chose the lesser of two evils and let go. So far as Hugh or Jack could
learn, neither one was injured, but the boys had scant opportunity to
follow their descent. Hugh, having disposed of his man, sprang to the
engine compartment and Jack followed at his heels. It had been planned
that Mr. Weeks and Mr. Jordan were to attempt to get to the ladder ere
it swung from reach, but although the latter, fighting his way through
a mob of the enemy, almost succeeded, and Hugh, leaning down, was ready
to pull him to safety, he failed by an instant. The commander never
had a chance. As the dirigible mounted upward, the two boys, gazing
anxiously down, saw the Americans struggling toward each other, the
excited Mexicans swaying and shouting about them. There was no chance
for shots, for friend and foe were mixed confusedly, but rifle butts
were swinging in air and bayonets were lunging, and honest American
fists were hitting right and left. Not until the dirigible was two
hundred feet or more above the earth did it occur to the foe to turn
their attention to her. Then a shot rang out, followed by a second, and
then by a regular salvo.
“Duck!” shouted Hugh.
Fortunately, the aim of the soldiers was hasty and although the boys
heard the bullets whistle past or thud into the metal hull beneath
them, they went untouched. Gently and yet swiftly the _F 8_ left the
earth behind, straightening her long length to the breeze. The sound of
firing no longer reached them. A silence that held only the whispering
of the breeze fell over the dirigible as, manned only by the two boys,
she floated up and up and up into sunlit space.