THE FLYING BUCCANEER
THE
FLYING BUCCANEER
_A Novel of Adventure in the Skies_
BY
JACK BINNS
NICHOLAS L. BROWN
NEW YORK, :: 1923
Copyright, 1923
By
NICHOLAS L. BROWN
All Rights Reserved including
Dramatic and Photoplay Rights
Printed in U. S. A.
THE FLYING BUCCANEER
CHAPTER ONE
“Oh! George, something terrible has happened. You must read the paper
right away.”
* * * * *
Mrs. George Cowl, wife of the Secretary of Air, in a state of great
excitement met her husband at the foot of the stairs as he descended,
and handed him a copy of the Washington _Tribune_.
“Look at this!” she exclaimed.
Taking the proffered newspaper Cowl’s eyes fell immediately upon the
eight column “banner” line spread across the front page:
TRANSPACIFIC MAIL AIRSHIP DESTROYED BY AERIAL PIRATE IN MIDOCEAN
Quickly he read the sub-heads, which told in terse sentences a story
of piracy in the Twentieth Century more amazing than any exploit of
the roving buccaneers who struck terror through the Spanish Main two
hundred years ago.
_Giant Rigid Airship Langley Shot Down Midway between Honolulu and
Manila from Altitude of_ 10,000 _feet._
_Survivors Picked Up by Cargo Steamer Yang-Tsze._
_Masked Aerial Pirate Escapes with Valuable Cargo Taken from Langley._
“Good God!” he exclaimed, then turning to his wife, he added, “I’ll
have to go right over to the office, Dear.”
Snatching his hat, Cowl hurriedly kissed his wife, and then rushed out,
leaving his breakfast untouched. He ran as he had not run for years
across the streets to the office in the government building, dodging
the early morning traffic and miraculously escaping injury.
Breathlessly, he dashed into the elevator, to the astonishment of Jim
the night caretaker who had not yet been relieved.
“Take me right up Jim,” he shouted.
Before the caretaker could close the doors of the elevator, Theodore
Mitchell, the Assistant Secretary of Air rushed in, as excited as his
chief. The two men looked at each other for several seconds with an
expression of utter bewilderment written across their faces. In one
momentary flash each read the other’s thoughts, and then Mitchell broke
out:
“It’s evident that you’ve read the paper, George, or you wouldn’t be
here so early. What do you think of it?”
“I don’t know yet,” replied Cowl, “I just glanced over the headlines
and rushed right over. I haven’t read the report yet. I hurried here to
see whether we had been officially advised of it.”
When the elevator stopped on the tenth floor, the two men rushed out
and ran into Cowl’s office.
“You read the newspaper account, while I call up the telegraph office,”
said Mitchell.
Cowl sat down somewhat nervously, and began to read:
Manila, P. I., Sept. 26, 1952.--(By Associated Press.) The mail airship
Langley flying from Yokohama to San Francisco was attacked and shot
down by a mysterious airplane yesterday, according to a brief wireless
dispatch received here from the Captain of the steamer Yang-Tsze. The
passengers and crew of the Langley were picked up by the Yang-Tsze
which is proceeding to this port.
The mysterious airplane which attacked the airship flew away in a
northeasterly direction after removing all the valuable cargo and
sinking the disabled airship.
The details of this act of piracy are contained in a later wireless
report sent by Captain Carruthers, commander of the Langley, from the
Yang-Tsze to Captain Deverest, commander of the naval district, in this
city. This report as given out here reads as follows:
“September 25th, Airship Langley flying on a course due East in
Latitude 20.35 N., Longitude 170.45 E., overtaken by large airplane of
flying boat type. Without warning airplane opened fire at one thousand
yards using three inch incendiary shells from automatic cannon.
“Third shell penetrated valve in number three ballonet, releasing
helium gas. Firing commenced while Langley flying at altitude of 10,000
feet. Langley began to settle, and I ordered colors hoisted as distress
signal. Airplane then ceased firing.
“Langley rapidly settled to surface. Attacking airplane spiralled
down, landed approximately same time as Langley, and then proceeded
in hailing distance. Commander and crew of airplane all wore peculiar
mask-like helmets. Former ordered us to launch boats and abandon
Langley.
“Sea smooth, no wind. Boats launched from disabled Langley without
difficulty, and passengers taken off quietly and in good order.
Commander of airplane ordered us to lay off half a mile from Langley.
Soon as transfer of passengers complete, I ordered officers in charge
of each lifeboat to obey this command, as attacking airplane had
assumed threatening attitude.
“Crew of airplane boarded Langley, and were observed removing part of
cargo. This continued half an hour, then airplane lay off two hundred
yards and opened fire on envelope of Langley with its three inch
cannon. Langley disappeared below surface a few seconds after the fifth
shot was fired.
“Airplane then came over to our boats, and her commander megaphoned
across that he would wireless for assistance. He then took off. Half an
hour later he returned, and informed us that he had sighted a steamer
15 miles SSE of us, and had requested her to come to our assistance,
giving our position.
“The airplane again took off and disappeared in a Northeasterly
direction at terrific speed. One hour later cargo steamer Yang-Tsze
hove in sight and picked us up. Entire ship’s company unharmed, and
passengers all well. Attacking airplane bore no international marks, or
anything of an identifying character.”
It is understood that Captain Carruthers included a complete and
detailed description of the piratical airplane in his wireless report,
but Captain Deverest here refused to make public that portion of the
dispatch on the ground that it was confidential official information.
The remarkable incident has caused quite a stir here, and the aerial
transport companies are considering the advisability of cancelling all
schedules until adequate protection of the airways has been established
by the Department of Air in Washington.
Officials of the Trans-Pacific and Oriental Aerial Line, owners of the
Langley, have cabled details of the affair to the head office at San
Francisco and requested that the Westbound airship Wilbur Wright, which
is due to leave early tomorrow morning, be held up until the government
puts effective patrol units along the course. The officials were
doubtful, however, whether the cable would arrive in time.
CHAPTER TWO
Scarcely had Cowl finished reading the newspaper story when the door
of his office opened and Mitchell entered with Arthur G. Ingleton,
the Secretary of the Navy. The latter’s worried expression seemed to
indicate that the gravity of the situation was even greater than was
apparent from the newspaper report. Looking at his colleague, he said:
“This is a pretty serious situation, George. I’ve just received a
cipher cable from Deverest at Manila giving me complete details of the
affair. From his description of the pirate it looks as though we have
got a pretty desperate character to deal with. His airplane appears to
be something entirely new.
“I am greatly worried, because as you know Mrs. Ingleton and Mary are
due to leave for the Philippines on the Wilbur Wright this morning. I
have got a long distance call in to San Francisco, trying to stop them
from leaving until we get this fellow. We can’t hold up the commercial
lines, but there is no telling where he will strike next. I have cabled
Deverest to make temporary arrangements to police the airways with
naval units until we make some organized effort to hunt this desperado.
“My chief anxiety is for Mary, because I doubt whether I shall reach
her in time to prevent her departure on the Wilbur Wright. She has
had her heart set on this Orient trip for the past six months. Here’s
Deverest’s report. I’ve had it deciphered. You read it while I try to
get the long distance operator again.”
Cowl took the message while Ingleton went back to his own office to
telephone. The message contained the report of Captain Carruthers as
given in the newspaper account, but included the following description
of the pirate machine, which was withheld from the press.
“Carruthers report shows the attacking airplane unlike any known
design. He states it was a monoplane flying boat, apparently of metal
construction throughout. The boat body was squat and wide, but entirely
enclosed. It had the appearance of being constructed of plates riveted
together like a steamship. Length of boat approximately 105 feet. Tail
construction seemed to be very small, but otherwise conventional.
Spread of wings about 110 feet, and chord (width) about 11 feet. Wing
was internally braced and was two feet thick at a point two feet from
leading edge. Wing covering also had appearance of plates riveted
together.
“It is equipped with a disappearing marine screw propeller for cruising
purposes on the surface of the ocean. In the air it is driven forward
by two pusher propellers, but according to Carruthers who examined
it carefully, there is no sign of any engine housing, and just where
the engines are located he could not determine. It was equipped with
a three inch automatic cannon, on a disappearing mount over the nose
of the enclosed hull. The airplane apparently is capable of prodigious
speed, that Carruthers could not account for.”
Mitchell had read the report over his chief’s shoulder.
“It doesn’t tell us very much, does it?” he queried.
A few minutes later Ingleton returned, having failed to get his call.
The operator had told him there would be an hour’s delay. His frantic
appeal that it was an urgent government call had failed to expedite
matters. To Cowl he said:
“Judging from that report, George, we have a pretty hard task before
us, and the only way to handle that brigand will be by means of a
thoroughly organized plan. As I said, I have told Deverest to use the
naval units to take care of the Eastern Pacific airways, and I shall
cable Smith at Honolulu as well as Harrington at San Francisco to put
all their craft on patrol duty. You had better send similar orders to
your commanders, don’t you think?”
At this moment Air Marshall Charles B. Hartley, military director of
the Air Service, entered the room in a state of suppressed excitement.
“I would willingly give up my commission, if only Joe Levanter were
here now,” he said. “He was by far the best man we had, and would have
been just the one for this job. He was a regular daredevil, but at the
same time shrewder than anybody else in the service. I can’t imagine
what became of him.”
The four officials then held a conference to decide their plans. After
some considerable discussion Ingleton jumped up, and started to leave
the room saying as he went:
“I am so worried about Mary and her mother. I am trying to get them off
the airship before it leaves. I am going to try and get San Francisco
again. I’ll be back shortly.”
CHAPTER THREE
The scene of activity that marks the pending departure of a
transoceanic airship was being enacted at the great airport of San
Francisco just as the first streaks of dawn broke over the Eastern sky.
At the peak of terminal tower number six, one thousand feet above the
ground, the airship Wilbur Wright was moored by its nose. The airship
moved slowly and sluggishly back and forth in a small arc of a circle
whenever the fitful breeze caught its glistening sides, as though it
were a mammoth weathercock indicating the direction of the wind.
The top of the tower was a huge revolving globe with a vast socket
on one side. It was in this socket that the nose of the airship was
automatically locked, the entire tower being a mooring post that
enabled the airship to swing to the action of the wind in the same
manner that a steamship swings on its anchor chain to the action of the
tide.
Upon the airship the rigging crew was busily engaged in unscrewing the
feed pipes from the gas valves, after the last volume of helium gas had
been taken into the ballonets. The buoyancy of the gas naturally kept
the giant airship afloat in the sea of air and relieved the tower from
all strain of the ship’s great weight.
Through the center of the tower was a shaft for passenger and freight
elevators. The latter were running at maximum speed, taking up the last
pieces of cargo.
On the aerodrome below, the big transcontinental passenger airplane had
just landed on the concrete runway after a fifteen hour non-stop flight
through the night from New York. It taxied over to the landing platform
at the foot of the tower, after the pilot had drawn up the retractible
wings to the sides of the fuselage.
As it drew alongside the landing platform, a door in the side of
the fuselage swung open, and the workers on the platform put out a
gangplank to the door. The passengers then filed out, carrying their
small hand baggage. They walked into the waiting hall inside the base
of the tower. Here was situated the restaurant, wireless station, and
all other facilities necessary to a terminal station.
Immediately after disembarking the passengers trooped into the
restaurant and ate breakfast, while the terminal employes were busily
engaged in taking their baggage up to the airship.
Among the passengers who had just arrived on the transcontinental
airplane were Mrs. Ingleton, wife of the Secretary of the Navy, and
her daughter Mary. With them was Wing Commander Kenneth Fitzgerald,
an aviation officer who had been transferred from a departmental
executive job at Washington to the command of the air station at
Manila. He was on his way to take over his new command in the East.
In Washington he had been a close friend of the Secretary of the Navy
and his family, and very naturally Mr. Ingleton had asked the commander
to look after Mrs. Ingleton and Mary during their voyage, since all
three were bound for the same destination by the same ship.
Together with the other passengers the three entered the restaurant and
breakfasted.
Mary Ingleton was a prepossessing athletic young lady imbued with the
full sense of importance of her twenty-two Summers. From the moment
of her debut she had been one of the reigning belles in Washington
society, with all the eligible young men of the Capital in her retinue
as willing slaves.
She was a blonde with a crowning aureole of golden tinged hair and her
big flashing blue eyes gave a true indication of the independence that
formed the basis of her character. She was rather tall. Her features
were regular, perfect and charming.
She had been the principal of a hundred romances. All these, however,
were but minor incidents that came and went to form the background of
her life.
Suddenly Washington was confronted with the fact that Mary, the
acknowledged queen, had quit her domain, at the height of her triumphal
conquests, to travel for no apparent purpose in the Orient. Her
departure, so unexpected, set the tongues of gossip and jealousy
awagging. The coincidence of Fitzgerald’s appointment to the Eastern
station was developed to the fullest extent of its possibilities in the
small talk that followed. Six months previously, it was recalled, Joe
Levanter, the dashing young aviator had disappeared, and he had been
one of Mary’s most persistent admirers. He had vanished as completely
as though the earth had swallowed him up.
Since his disappearance, pointed out gossip, there was no doubt about
the change that had come over Mary. From the central figure in the
varied activities of social life she had changed into a recluse and had
begun to take her pleasure more seriously.
With the characteristic imperturbability of youth Mary had remained
oblivious to the covert glances and whispered remarks of those about
her. But there was more than mere imperturbability that made her gaze
so indifferent, her actions so apathetic. She was absorbed in a process
of self-study that claimed all her mental energies. Stubbornly and
deeply she was questioning something, probing something, prying into
something. This something, though but a memory now, she endeavored to
recreate into a present reality. And in her tireless effort to make the
past live again in the present she sought an opportunity to reexamine
and reappraise her actions. Were they altogether right? What possible
effect did or will they have on her future? How was she to gain that
ease and tranquility of mind that seem to be the result as well as the
reward of making a right decision. Has her opportunity come and gone?
Will she ever have another? She did not know, and the less she knew the
more she thought and speculated on the subject.
Her mind dwelt continuously upon a scene that six months previously had
made a profound impression upon her. From the moment of its enactment
she had been in the grip of that mental self-absorption until it
began to affect her even outwardly so seriously that her parents had
willingly consented to her eastern trip.
Even now in the transoceanic air terminal for the first time, Mary’s
mind, unaffected by the sights that were novel to her, reverted to
the occasion that had persistently beset her. In her mind’s eye she
pictured for the hundredth time the incident with Joe Levanter that
was the direct cause of her present unplanned journey. Mary was uneasy
mentally. She was not sure that she hated Levanter, nor was she sure
that she loved him. Of one thing only was she certain, and that was she
could not be indifferent to the memory of their last meeting.
He was indeed a remarkable young man who had precipitated within her
strange, mixed feelings that she could not define. She remembered
the last call he made upon her at her home in Washington. Back upon
the screen of her memory there flashed again a moving picture which
portrayed every incident of that momentous evening. She saw herself
stroll out of the house with him across the porch to the rustic seat
back of the lawn. She again saw him go through the impassioned gestures
of his proposal, and her ears--deaf to the multitudinous noises around
her--again heard his words repeated from the indelible record impressed
upon her mind.
“Mary, if you will only say yes the world shall be yours and mine. I
have just done something wonderful that will bring me great fame, and I
want you to share it with me. Won’t you say the word that will make me
forever happy, dear?”
She again saw his coal black eyes peering straight at her with a
penetrating gaze, and the living intenseness stamped upon his face. She
saw herself held immovable by the equal strength of the opposing forces
that were battling within her. She saw herself transfixed in this pose
of painful indecision for what seemed to be eternity, until the sound
of his voice again broke through her reverie.
“Mary, I must have your answer now, this very minute, my life, my
future--everything depends upon it.”
Then as in a dream she heard herself repeat the momentous “No” that
escaped from her lips before she realized she had spoken. Why she had
said it she did not know then, and the constant introspection of the
past six months had failed to produce a reason. Was it the spontaneous
response of intuition?
Daily for six months she had reviewed the scene, and yet even now,
as on the day of its occurrence she gave an involuntary start as she
thought of the effect produced by her refusal. She again saw the quick
change that came over Levanter, the rage that suddenly lit up his olive
brown features and shone from his eyes. She again heard him as he spoke
with suppressed fury in his voice:
“Mary I love you. I still love you, but evidently to you my feeling
has been nothing but a pleasant diversion. You have played with it,
encouraged it. You have led me to believe that there was more than
hope for me. And now you coldly dash that hope to pieces, knowing full
well that it has been the moving principle of all my plans, of all my
efforts.... I don’t know what is going to happen to me. But I know one
thing. You cannot by a mere word detach yourself from the fate which
you and I have been preparing for ourselves. Whether with me or away
for me, you too shall bear the responsibility for my future as you bore
it for my past, and shall feel the effects of whatever is in store for
me.”
“Good bye, Mary, but don’t forget. I shall not.”
As Mary, still enthralled, saw with her mental eye the stalwart frame
leaping over the fence back of the lawn, she felt a tug at her arm.
Turning around she passed from the realm of memory to that of actuality
in the person of her mother who was exclaiming:
“Why, Mary, you haven’t touched your breakfast, dear. What are you
thinking of, child? Come now, we shall have to hurry, for the ship is
leaving in a few minutes.”
Almost automatically Mary began to eat impelled by duty rather than
appetite. She listened attentively while Fitzgerald with the fervor of
an expert was explaining everything about the station. His own branch
of aeronautics was concerned chiefly with the lighter than air types of
air vessels, and he was now in his very element, anxious to impart his
knowledge to his fair ward.
Breakfast over, the three walked from the restaurant to the elevator
and ascended with other passengers to the landing platform at the
top of the tower. There a steward took their baggage and escorted
them along the alleyway to their cabins. As soon as they had located
themselves Fitzgerald took them to the observation room, and secured
for them a favorable window seat where they could watch the departure
of the great airship.
The view unfolded before their enraptured gaze was unforgettable.
One thousand feet below they saw the glories of the island-strewn
San Francisco Bay. It was spread out beneath them like a map. They
saw its shores, and those of San Pablo Bay. They saw the magnificent
rivers Sacramento and San Joaquin emptying their streams into the
beautiful bay. A few miles to the north Mount Tamalpais towered above
them. On the hazy horizon of the Pacific they could just make out the
Farallones. Directly below, the hilly city appeared almost flat.
Meanwhile the airship was making ready to leave. The six engines were
now running slowly, but the propellors were locked in a horizontal
position. The captain, megaphone in hand, and his officers were on
the bridge waiting to give the signal to cast off. Friends of the
passengers were grouped about the balcony beneath the mooring globe,
waving flags and handkerchiefs.
Finally the agent of the line left the airship. The captain rang an
order to the engine room, and a moment later the changeable pitch
propellor on the after engine nacelle was thrown into reverse and
commenced to revolve slowly. Then through the megaphone the captain
shouted the order to the employes on the tower: “Let go!”
The engineer on the pier touched a button, and the electric machinery,
moving with swiftness and precision, released the clutch that held
the airship to the tower. The reversed propellor pulled the giant
frame clear of the tower before it could rise. A few moments later the
buoyancy of the helium gas had lifted it to an altitude of ten thousand
feet.
The watchers on the balcony saw the ship turn slowly in a circle, and
then with gathering speed swiftly float to the western horizon. As the
last farewell cheer died away the telephone bell in the main office
rang. A clerk reached leisurely over and lifted the receiver to his
ear. He uttered a languid “hello!” A voice came back immediately: “We
have a rush long distance call from Washington for Miss Mary Ingleton,
a passenger on the airship Wilbur Wright,” it said.
“Too late,” replied the clerk, “the ship has just gone.”
CHAPTER FOUR
When Joe Levanter left Mary’s home on the day of their final parting he
felt a sense of vacuous misery overpowering him. All at once he became
aware of the fact that he had no one to turn to, no one to care or live
for. All his dreams, his youth, his past full of ardor and promise
had been swept away from him, it seemed, by the single movement of a
woman’s arm. What this arm had meant to him as a sustaining prop for
his ambitions he realized only now, when a sort of dull, flat weakness
filled his frame.
He entered his comfortably furnished apartment in one of the
fashionable homes of the capital and threw himself on a sofa, burying
his head in the cushion, as if wishing to escape the dark and crushing
force of his depression.
For the first time in his life he faced existence without a set
purpose, without energy, without zest. He was a brilliant aeronautical
engineer, the inventor of many remarkable devices which revolutionized
the construction of airplanes. He was a daring pilot. He was also
engaged in conducting experiments with a new type of air vessel of
his own invention which was considered of utmost importance by the
United States government in whose employ he was. He was internationally
known as one of the most original and successful builders of airships.
His name was uttered with respect by scientists in every country,
and the whole aeronautical world expected further and even more
splendid achievements of him. He was genuinely loved and admired by
his colleagues, while to those who were assigned to assist him in his
laboratory work and field tests he was an ideal superior and companion
at the same time. But all this work and glory, all this popularity,
these personal and social triumphs brought him no consolation in this
hour of anguish, so keen, so humiliating.
There was his fame of course. But of late it had become a source of
embarrassment to him that was as unusual as it was unwarranted. For
some time he had been the recipient of letters from unknown people
residing in various parts of Europe and South America, who professed
a great interest in the work he was doing. In a subtle but persistent
manner these people hinted that with his genius and courage he could
make his work the foundation of a material prosperity far greater
than he could possibly achieve as a mere government employee. The
letters came at regular intervals and bore the seals of apparently
well situated and even noble personages. The last letter he received
contained a request for a personal interview to discuss a matter,
which the writer was certain would prove of interest to Levanter and
might rebound to the advantage of all parties concerned. Levanter was
informed that unless he definitely made known his unwillingness to see
the party seeking an audience with him, the latter would call at his
residence where it was hoped there would be laid the beginning of what
was certain to prove an amicable as well as profitable association.
This, by some strange association, flashed in his mind as he lay a prey
to disillusion and despondency. Helpless protest stirred somewhere
between the intermittent gleams of conscious self-analysis. Defiance
and hatred occasionally welled up within his breast. But the confusion
and intensity of the reactions made Levanter feel only more dejected,
and with listless resignation he abandoned himself to the tortures of
his soul.
As he thus lay and grappled with the shadows of despair the door bell
rang. Being alone in the house, he was forced to get up and open the
door. A tall man, immaculately dressed, asked if Mr. Levanter was at
home and whether he could be seen alone. When the latter introduced
himself as the gentleman in question, the stranger was visibly affected
and, making a low bow, said he was Monsieur de Ribaud of Marseilles who
had asked for the interview. Levanter invited him in.
After a short pause the visitor said:
“I have come here on an important mission. I represent an international
group of investors who are anxious to secure your cooperation and
guidance in a very profitable undertaking.”
“What is it?” Levanter asked.
The visitor looked at Levanter intently for some time, then answered:
“It is something that will demand the greatest courage and grit. But
we know you have that. Mr. Levanter, have you ever thought of the
tremendous riches that is now being carried in airships across seas and
continents and oceans? It is a booty worthy of the bravest.”
Levanter, astonished, made no reply.
“You are a genius, Mr. Levanter, and genius knows no law. Can you be
satisfied with the paltry offering of the mediocre whom you yourself
teach how to be rich and powerful, when you yourself have it in your
power to command all...? Why should you live this life of small reward
and duty, when you can make a whole world your own? You are the master
of the air. There is no one to dispute your supremacy. Your knowledge
and skill have built and operated marvelous machines for others, why
not use your abilities for yourself? We propose to pay you your own
price for the invention you are now working on. We offer you all the
money you want for the construction of airplanes for our operations.
And we invite you to become the head of our organization which has
every chance of success on its side. Are these terms fair enough? I
shall not press you for a decision right now. Whenever you are ready
let me know at the following address (offering his card) and we shall
have no trouble arranging the details.... Meanwhile we must part. Good
bye, Mr. Levanter. We hope to hear from you.”
Monsieur de Ribaud rose and left. Levanter remained sitting in the same
position, dazed by the offer and its prospects.
He sat thus all evening and through a long and dreary night. He thought
of his eventful past and of his contemplated future. He thought of
the woman whose lovely face seemed to link the two, only to mock and
torment him and to deprive him of both. He thought of fleeing and
secluding himself somewhere. He thought of death, of revenge, of
tremendous hazards and overwhelming sacrifices. He thought of all those
things that seeth and boil in the heart of a rejected lover.
Then out of the black denseness of his thoughts there floated up the
dim but piercing flicker of the offer he had been made. To his desolate
soul it shone like a dull-red, turbid smudge of light and hope....
It warmed and caressed and beckoned. It promised peace, revenge,
forgetfulness and fortune....
It made that answer for Levanter for which de Ribaud so very tactfully
had refused to press.
CHAPTER FIVE
Five hundred miles from San Francisco, high over the vast expanse of
the trackless Pacific Ocean, the airship Wilbur Wright was tearing
through space. All of her six engines were running smoothly and
sweetly, each turning out the power of two thousand horses, sending
the huge airship forward at an average speed of one hundred and twenty
miles an hour.
In the navigating cabin, built into the keel and streamlined to the
forward end of the envelope, Captain Johnstone and his officers were
engaged in “shooting the sun” for latitude. On the forward lookout
post, atop the envelope 90 feet higher up, stood Howard Redmond, the
second officer, sextant glued to his eye, engaged in the same task.
The passengers were spread about the ship, some taking their morning
walk along the 1,000 foot promenade deck built on top of the envelope.
Some were in the smoking-room playing cards, or getting up a pool on
the day’s run. Others were in the observation saloon, lying recumbent
in comfortable lounging chairs.
Upon the after end of the promenade deck, seated in long deck chairs
were Commander Fitzgerald and Mary Ingleton. They had gone there
immediately after breakfast, which was served two hours after the
airship had left San Francisco. Mrs. Ingleton was still in her cabin
below. For some time the naval officer and his companion sat watching
for a glimpse of the placid ocean through the occasional rifts which
split the rolling clouds below the airship. The clouds themselves
presented a remarkable sight as the brilliant sun played upon their
rounded billows and gave them the appearance of gigantic puffs of
snow-white cotton. Beneath these fleecy billows a tropical rain-storm
was in progress, but in the sea of air through which the Wilbur Wright
was speeding all was calm and serene, with not a single speck of cloud
above to mar the perfect contour of the sky-blue vaulted heavens.
Neither Fitzgerald nor his companion had spoken since they sat down.
Mary was in raptures over the scene unfolded below her. Fitzgerald was
plainly nervous. His unusually steady hands were shaking perceptibly,
and he was constantly shifting uneasily in his chair. This became so
noticeable at last that Mary turned to him and asked:
“Don’t you feel well, Commander?”
“Why do you ask that?” parried Fitzgerald.
Mary paused a moment and then replied:
“Well from your manner you don’t appear well. In fact you look quite
worried.”
“I’ve just been thinking about something,” answered Fitzgerald, “and
trying to make up my mind what to do.”
“Oh! do tell me,” exclaimed Mary, “maybe I can help you.”
Fitzgerald suddenly sat up in his chair with an eager look in his
eyes. Mary’s remark had brought more animation to his face than he had
exhibited at any time since they had boarded the airship.
“You can help me, Miss Ingleton,” he said eagerly; then after a
moment’s reflection, he continued in a more dejected tone, “but I don’t
know whether you would be willing to.”
“How strange you are, Commander. What makes you think that I wouldn’t
help you if I could?”
“Well I know you could help me in this case, but it is something of
such vital importance that I hesitate to ask you for fear you would
refuse.”
Mary looked up at him, and in a short quick glance her intuition
divined the cause of Fitzgerald’s agitation and his cryptic remarks.
She quickly lowered her eyes as a warm blush suffused her cheeks.
Then with true womanly instinct she promptly attempted to change the
embarrassing subject by exclaiming:
“Oh! look Commander, there’s a break in the clouds. You can see the
ocean now. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes it is,” replied Fitzgerald, “but to me it isn’t nearly as
wonderful as you are--Mary!”
He lingered longingly over her name, the first time he had used it in
her presence. Again Mary blushed, and then in her confusion she said in
whispering tones:
“Don’t, please don’t, or I will have to leave you.”
“You can’t,” exclaimed Fitzgerald, as he suddenly leaned over and
grasped her hands. Then before she could make any move he continued in
impassioned tones, “No! you can’t leave me until you have heard what is
in my heart Mary. I love you Mary! I love you with all my soul. I have
tried hard to tell you Mary, but I could never gather up sufficient
courage. It is hard for me to tell you now. I am just a plain man. I am
not gifted with speech, but even if I were there are no words in any
language that could describe my feelings toward you, Mary. I have loved
you since the first time I saw you, with a love that has grown from day
to day. You are more than all the world to me. I want to be with you
always. I watch for you every moment, Mary. I am unhappy and lonesome
when you are not with me. Mary, won’t you be my wife?”
The unusual fervor that gripped Fitzgerald and spurred him to unwonted
eloquence kept him keyed up while he waited anxiously and impatiently
for Mary to reply. He devoured her with his eyes, as with downcast
head, she nervously twisted her hands within her lap. Thus she sat
for several minutes trying hard to find a way to deal with the new
and unexpected situation. She had never dreamed that Fitzgerald was
in love with her. The excitement of the voyage, and the constant
retrospection upon the incident with Levanter had kept her in a state
of oblivion to the persons about her. In a way she had acted toward
them as though they were necessary parts of her surroundings, and she
had not given them a moment’s thought, nor paid any attention to their
whims or moods. Therefore the proposal of Fitzgerald came to her like
a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. She was completely non-plussed by it
and at a loss as to what to say.
She knew she did not love him. In fact so far as her feelings were
concerned she had in an abstract way looked upon him as one commanding
her filial respect. The thought as a possible lover had certainly never
entered her head. As she mused, Fitzgerald’s impatience gained mastery
over him, and Mary was suddenly awakened from the reverie his proposal
had plunged her into, by his exclamation:
“Mary dear, can’t you say something.”
“Really I don’t know,” she blurted out, “I don’t know what to say. It
would be silly to say it was so unexpected, but honestly you took me by
surprise. I have never thought of you as a lover, Commander, really I
haven’t, so I cannot give you an answer unless it be, ‘No.’”
“No, don’t say that,” pleaded Fitzgerald, “don’t say that! I am willing
to wait. I do love you, Mary, and nothing that ever happens can change
the feeling. I am yours only and always. I am willing to do anything
you say dear, but can’t you give me some little encouragement?”
Mary suddenly assumed an air of dignity that seemed strange in one so
young.
“Listen Commander,” she said, “haven’t you wondered why I am making
this trip at this time of the year? I will tell you.”
She then told the story of her experience with Levanter, leaving out no
detail of her own perturbation.
“So you see Commander,” she continued, “I am not yet myself. I don’t
know just what to say to you. I want to say ‘No,’ but I like you very
much. As matters stand now I can’t give you any encouragement, it would
not be right. Let us be friends, but please, please do not ask me
again.”
“Very well, Mary,” said Fitzgerald, “I will wait gladly under those
circumstances. Maybe you will change your liking into love. I will
certainly do all I can to bring that about. I hope so with all my
heart. I will obey your command, for this voyage anyway, but I am going
to ask you again dear, when I think the time has arrived.”
While this scene was being enacted unobserved upon the after end of the
ship, another incident was occurring in another part of the ship. In
the wireless cabin just abaft the navigating room, Herbert Alexander,
the wireless operator, sat with his legs upon the instrument table,
the receivers fastened to his ears, and a novel in his hands. He read
as he listened for stray calls and smoked with ease, at peace with all
the world, dreaming between paragraphs of the Geisha girl in Yokohama
waiting to entertain him at the end of the flight.
Presently, with a bored expression on his face, he dropped the book
and leisurely withdrew his legs from the table. His sensitive ears had
responded to the call, WWR. WWR. WWR., of his ship. The calling station
signed San Francisco.
With a patience born of experience he waited until the operator at San
Francisco finished, then grasping the sending key, he answered the call
and gave the signal to go ahead. Taking one of the telegraph blanks he
wrote down:
“Be on your guard. Air pirate again operating.” This was followed by a
brief description of the attack on the Langley.
The news of the threatening danger spread like wildfire among the
passengers. Their moods immediately changed. Upon their countenances
appeared the shadows of deep thought, the furrows of deep anxiety and
fear. All grew quiet and expectant.
In a corner of the salon, apart from the rest stood Wing Commander
Kenneth Fitzgerald, with Mrs. Ingleton and Mary. Mrs. Ingleton was
very perturbed, but not so Mary. She was obviously pleased with the
situation, for she evinced a greater interest in it than she had shown
for months.
“Just think,” she said joyously to Fitzgerald, “that we might get
an honest to goodness adventure. Isn’t it thrilling? The girls in
Washington will be terribly envious when they read about it. Oh! I
do hope the old pirate shows up. I’ll be terribly disappointed if he
doesn’t. Isn’t it terribly exciting?”
CHAPTER SIX
Throughout the night the Wilbur Wright had steadily forged ahead.
The crew had willingly volunteered to two watches instead of three,
consequently a more rigid lookout had been maintained at all points of
the ship. The course lay a little more than ten degrees south of the
Tropic of Cancer.
The night had been well illuminated with a starry heaven, such as
one sees only in tropical regions, but to the anxious watchers it
had been passing slowly. Now at six o’clock dawn was emerging with
tropical swiftness, to replace the star punched blackness of the sky.
The airship was rapidly approaching the southern end of the Hawaiian
archipelago.
An hour afterward Captain Johnstone came into the navigating cabin. A
few minutes later the towering crater of Mauna Loa, the volcanic mass
of the Island of Hawaii, appeared on the northwestern horizon like a
dim cloud specking the clear sky about them. It was fully three hundred
miles away. Howard Redmond, the second officer, who was on watch at the
time, pointed it out to the commander in the usual terse manner of the
navigator.
Captain Johnstone looked at it in an abstract manner, while in his mind
he went over the events of the previous day. There to the northwest,
a few hours flying distance, lay Honolulu. Not a single aircraft was
in sight, although undoubtedly government ships were patrolling in the
vicinity of the Hawaiian capital. He had already made his decision to
continue flying on the more southerly course direct to Manila without
stopping at Honolulu, but now the actual sight of Hawaii without any
sign of the pirate had put the situation in an entirely new light.
There seemed to be no question that he could make Honolulu safely,
particularly with government craft undoubtedly but a short distance
away. Then too, if necessary, he could leave for Manila at a different
time from that given in the schedule, and make arrangements to keep his
departure secret.
After considering these points for some time Captain Johnstone suddenly
made up his mind to depart from his original plan and go to Honolulu.
Accordingly he gave orders to bring the airship about, and place her on
the new course. After seeing these commands obeyed, he went into his
cabin and rang for his breakfast.
Half an hour later the lookout man at the observation post on top
of the envelope shouted down through the loud speaking telephone:
“There’s a ship three points off the port bow, Sir, very high.”
Redmond rushed over to the port window in the navigating cabin and
searched the sky. Finally he made out a tiny speck at an almost
unbelievable altitude. For a few seconds he watched it, and then
decided that its general appearance and position were sufficiently
suspicious to warrant action. He sent a boy to call Captain Johnstone
from his room. The latter who had just finished his breakfast, hurried
to the navigating room, where Redmond told him of the strange craft
that had just been sighted.
Captain Johnstone picked up his glasses and pointed them to the distant
object in the skies. He watched it as it swept along in apparent
circuitious course at tremendous speed. At this time the Wilbur Wright
was flying at an altitude of 15,000 feet. He next picked up a pair
of altitude finders and trained them upon the stranger. After an
observation lasting several seconds, he turned round to Redmond and
said:
“My God; it’s fully 45,000 feet above the sea! It must be a very
unusual craft to keep that altitude. It may be the pirate. Anyway I’m
not going to take any chances with it. We’re pretty close to Honolulu
now, and even if it is the pirate we ought to make the airport safely.
Please send for Mr. Alexander.”
The captain then picked up his field glasses again and continued to
watch the stranger through them. Shortly afterwards the wireless
operator appeared in response to the captain’s call. At this very
moment the captain observed the stranger in the skies turn around and
then begin a wide spiral dive. All hesitation disappeared from his
mind. Throwing down the glasses, he picked up a piece of paper and
began to write:
“Captain Smith, Naval Commander Honolulu.
“Wilbur Wright in Latitude 15.20 N. Longitude 152.35 E. Strange craft
approximate altitude 45,000 feet now spiralling toward us. Believe it
to be pirate airplane. Please rush assistance. Johnstone.”
Turning to the waiting wireless operator, he thrust the message in his
hand and said:
“Please get that off immediately, Mr. Alexander.”
Then he rang for the chief steward and at the same time ordered the
bugler to sound the alarm. Even before the steward started for the
navigating cabin, the thoroughly alarmed passengers began to troop
into the dining room. As soon as the former had reported to Captain
Johnstone he was told to have the stewards make a search of the
passengers’ quarters to see that all the passengers were in the dining
room.
“When they are all in the dining salon,” continued the Captain, “tell
them that we have sighted a suspicious craft, and that I thought it
best they should remain in the salon until further orders. Tell them
we are only 400 miles from Honolulu, and that I have wirelessed for
assistance, and that I do not think there is any danger.”
The steward left to go about his task. In the wireless room Alexander
had just got into communication with Honolulu and had started to send
the captain’s message.
By this time the passengers were in the dining salon. They were talking
to each other in excited tones in groups at the various tables, when
the chief steward arrived and delivered the captain’s message.
At the captain’s table in the center of the salon sat Commander
Fitzgerald with Mrs. Ingleton and her daughter. They had been in the
dining room when the warning bugle was sounded. Mrs. Ingleton, being
somewhat nervous, was almost terror-stricken, and Fitzgerald was doing
his best to allay her fears. Mary however, was alive with intense
excitement. She could hardly restrain herself from clapping her hands
over the prospect of the adventure. “Oh! isn’t it thrilling!” she
exclaimed.
Just then one of the passengers at a window on the port side shouted
across the room:
“He’s getting very close to us. He’s coming very fast. Just look at
him!”
The passengers who had remained seated started excitedly for the
windows. Before they could reach them there was the sound of an
explosion followed by a sizzling, ripping sound, and the ship shook
from stem to stern.
CHAPTER SEVEN
An air of anxiety hung over the United States Naval Station at Pearl
Harbor on the Island of Oahu, six miles west of Honolulu. In the
office of the commandant sat Captain James H. Smith, an expression of
deep concern spread over his weather-beaten face. Seated with him and
sharing his gloomy thoughts was Air Commander Heathcote, commander of
the aerial forces using the Hawaiian archipelago as their basis.
Both had just been discussing the airship Wilbur Wright which was now
several hours overdue. Not a single word had been received from her.
The fate of the Langley, only a few hours previously, was freshly
engraven on their memories. In fact the passengers were still aboard
the tramp steamer Yang-Tsze, which was ploughing its lubberly way
toward Manila. Now there loomed up the possibility that the Wilbur
Wright had shared the same fate.
Both officers had dispatched every craft that was available under their
command to search the seas and the air, in accordance with orders from
Washington. All were in immediate wireless intercommunication with each
other, but none had sighted or heard from the overdue airship.
Thus they sat and discussed the possibilities of the situation while
waiting impotently for information. Presently a messenger came in from
the naval radio station with a penciled note from the operator. It
stated that a distress signal had been received from the Wilbur Wright,
but that the operator had been unable to receive it completely owing
to interference from another station, that was working on the same
wavelength as the Wilbur Wright.
Captain Smith showed the note to Heathcote, and the two men immediately
walked over to the wireless station. There the operator was frantically
endeavoring to get into touch with the Wilbur Wright. Upon the entrance
of the two commanders, the operator ceased his efforts long enough to
advise them of what had occurred.