UNCLE SAM'S MEN-BIRDS.
"Py golly, dot feller Neddie he fly like vun birdt, alretty, ain'd it?"
exclaimed Hans Dunderblitz one day two weeks later.
He was standing by the side of Herc Taylor, watching the evolutions
of the bi-plane of Bright-Sturgess model, which Ned Strong was
manipulating far above them.
"You're pretty good yourself, Hans," encouraged Herc.
"Ach nein! Efferey time I gedt oop midt der air I schneeze. Undt
den--down I go tumble, alretty."
"You'll have to learn to stop sneezing," commented Herc; "maybe the
engine doesn't like it--see a doctor."
"Phwat's thot about docthors?" asked Mulligan, coming up. "Shure
talkin' uv doctors reminds me uv one we had at home in Galway. He was
a successful docthor, understan', but whin he wos a young mon he was
not so well-to-do. In fact, the only ornament he had in his parlor was
Patience on a Monument, a stathoo, ye understan'. Wun day a frind calls
ter see him in the days whin the doc was prosperous.
"'Doc,' says he, 'you ain't got Patience on a Monument any more.'
"'No,' says the docthor, says he, 'shure I've got monumints on all my
patients now, begob!'"
"Puts me in mind of what I once read in a paper up in the Catskills,"
laughed Herc. "The item read: 'Dr. Jones was called, and under his
prompt and skilful treatment Hiram Scroggs died Wednesday night.'"
"By Chermany, dere vos a docthor vunce----" began Hans.
But what the doctor "by Chermany" did or said, was destined not to
be known, for an order came to the group to resume their practice.
Immediately they hastened off to get their machines in trim once more.
Lieutenant De Frees' system of instruction had proved effectual. By
this time almost all of his squad had learned to fly. Some of them
could only take "grasshopper jumps," but others, Ned, Merritt and
Chance among them, had proven themselves really capable airmen. They
had learned with wonderful aptitude.
Ned would never forget his first day in an aeroplane. The officer had
taken up a biplane and given a daring exhibition. Then he descended
and announced that instruction would begin. His assistants took up
Herc and Merritt, while Ned was ordered to seat himself on the narrow
little place beside the officer. The Dreadnought Boy experienced then,
not exactly fear, but a curious sort of sinking feeling born of his
initiation into a hitherto unknown experience. He braced his feet
against the slender struts of the machine, as he was instructed, and
held tightly to the handholds provided for the purpose. Then he stole
a glance at Lieutenant De Frees. The officer's face was as calm as that
of a man who was about to take an afternoon's drive behind a favorite
horse.
Suddenly the officer twitched a brass contrivance attached to a
quadrant on his steering handle, which was not unlike that of an
automobile. He pressed a pedal with his foot and a mighty roar and
vibration began at once as the motor opened up.
The acrid reek of castor oil, which is used to lubricate aeroplanes,
filled the air. The stuff was expelled from the cylinder vents in
blue clouds, shot with lambent smoky flame. The mighty power exerted
by the eight cylinders shook the frail fabric of the aeroplane as an
earthquake might.
"Hold on tight now!" shouted the officer to the pupils, who were
gripping the machine tightly, grasping on to the rear structure. Had
they not done so, it would have darted off at once before the two
propellers gained top speed and driving power.
"Now!" shouted the officer suddenly.
Instantly they let go, as they had been instructed. Ned felt as if
he had suddenly been plunged into a runaway express train that was
careening over a newly ploughed field. The shocks and vibration of the
machine, as it rushed straight forward, like a scared jackrabbit, over
the uneven surface of the field, made it hard to hold on.
Just as Ned felt that he must inevitably be hurled from his seat, the
motion suddenly changed. The contrast was violent. From the jouncing,
rattling, bumping onrush of a second before, the novice seemed to have
been suddenly transported to the softest of feather-beds. The aeroplane
glided upward without any apparent effort. It appeared to Ned as if
the land was dropping from under his feet, rather than that they were
rising from the earth.
Higher they soared and higher. Suddenly their pleasant drifting, as it
seemed, though the aeroplane was making sixty miles an hour, changed to
a terrifying drop.
It was like rushing downward in a runaway elevator. Ned choked, caught
his breath, and turned faint and dizzy. Without wishing to do so, he
found himself compelled to close his eyes. The qualms of incipient
nausea began to rack him. His head pained, too.
"Gracious," he thought impatiently, "what's the matter with me, anyway?
Am I a baby or a girl? If the lieutenant can stand it, I can."
With a supreme effort of will, the Dreadnought Boy compelled himself to
open his eyes. He stole a side glance at his companion. Lieutenant De
Frees was as cool as an iceberg.
"I must be, too," thought Ned, steeling himself. As he did so, the
alarming downward motion ceased. They began to rise once more, swinging
upward and climbing the sky in long, lazy circles.
It was then and there that Ned's attack of air fever left him, never
to return. Compared to the experiences of his companions, he learned
later he had had a comparatively mild attack.
Ned now began to look about him. The other two aeroplanes were soaring
below them, like big birds of the buzzard kind. He felt a wild desire
suddenly gripping his heart to go higher--right up among the fleecy
clouds that hung above them. Perhaps the officer read his thoughts. At
any rate, they continued to climb the aerial staircase. At a height of
four thousand feet, they plunged into a fog. The sudden change from the
bright sunlight was bewildering.
"We are passing through one of those clouds that you saw from below,"
volunteered the officer. He glanced at the barograph and read off to
Ned the height to which they had arisen.
"Good gracious," thought the lad, "four thousand feet above the earth,
and nothing between me and it but the soles of my shoes!"
But Ned's terror had gone. He began to take a real interest in the
operation of the aeroplane now. It was fascinating to a degree.
All at once they emerged from the wet fog bank and glided into the
sunlight. Condensed moisture covered the planes. Drops of water, turned
to miniature rainbows by the sunlight, slid down the wire stays and
supports.
"Want to go higher?" asked the officer presently.
"If you want to, sir," said Ned.
"We might as well. You are standing it splendidly, Strong."
Ned felt himself glow with pleasure. Words of praise from an officer
are not plentiful in our or any other navy. But, as we have seen, the
discipline on the aviation squad was not exactly as rigid as on board a
battleship.
But presently Ned's pleasant glow gave way to a shivering sensation.
It was growing bitterly cold. His teeth chattered and his hands turned
a beautiful plum color. The moisture from the cloud began to freeze on
the machine.
"Enough for to-day," decided the officer, and he started to descend.
The drop was rapid, yet now that Ned was more used to it, he felt
no particular alarm. In an incredibly short time, so it seemed, the
earth rushed up to meet them, and they landed on the aviation field as
lightly as a wind-wafted feather.
The next day Ned and the two other most proficient pupils--Merritt
and Chance--were given a chance to handle the levers alone. They
acquitted themselves well. Their advancement proved rapid, living up
to the promise of their first efforts. On the day which we described
at the beginning of this chapter, Ned, as we have seen, was capable of
handling an aeroplane alone. So were Merritt and Chance. Herc was a
fair airman, and the others were progressing favorably.
But the real rivals of the air were, at present, Ned, Merritt and
Chance.