A Flight in Quest of News
Fairly atremble with eagerness, Jimmy ran out into the hangar and made a
rapid inspection of his plane, to see that everything was right. He
glanced at the wheels, to see that the chocks were in front of them,
then scrambled into the cabin and touched the starter. His engine
answered with a roar. Jimmy throttled it down until it was idling
gently. For a moment he sat listening to it. Then, satisfied, he climbed
out of the ship, and set about completing his preparations for the task
ahead of him.
Had Jimmy been a little more experienced in newspaper work he would not
have been so excited about this simple assignment that Mr. Davis had
given him. All he had to do was to fly a hundred miles or so, gather a
few facts, take a few pictures, and get back as quickly as possible. But
there was no need to hurry, as there would have been had it been late in
the day. Nevertheless, Jimmy was all atingle with enthusiasm and
eagerness. He could hardly wait to be at his task.
Jimmy had always been like that about anything in which he was
interested. He put his whole soul into whatever he was doing. Doubtless
he owed his present job to that very fact. For after he had lost his
place as a reserve mail pilot, when Uncle Sam quit flying the mails,
Jimmy had really created this present job for himself. He had told Mr.
Tom Johnson, the managing editor of the _Morning Press_, that that
newspaper ought to have its own plane and its own pilot. And when Mr.
Johnson said that that was the last thing the _Morning Press_ needed,
Jimmy had decided to prove to Mr. Johnson that the newspaper really
_did_ need a plane and a pilot even though the managing editor thought
otherwise. Jimmy proved his point by volunteering to execute two
difficult commissions for the _Morning Press_ and then by succeeding in
each commission. And in each case he owed his success to his enthusiasm,
his whole-hearted devotion to his task, and his refusal to be defeated.
In each case perseverance had won for him.
First, he had volunteered to find Warren Long, when that veteran pilot
was lost in “the graveyard of airplanes,” as the mail pilots call that
vast and terrible mountain wilderness in western Pennsylvania. And he
had found him, after all other searchers had been baffled. He had found
him disabled by a broken leg, in the path of an advancing forest fire,
after a terrible forced landing. The story of that adventure is told in
“The Search for the Lost Mail Plane.” Thus, for the second time, Jimmy
had saved the life of this brother pilot that he loved so well. The
first time was when Warren Long’s plane fell into the Susquehanna River
immediately in front of Jimmy’s home, and Jimmy had swum out in the icy
water and rescued the unconscious pilot. The account of that rescue is
given in “Piloting the U. S. Air Mail,” That occurrence marked the
beginning of the devoted friendship between this older pilot and the
youthful Jimmy. So it is easy to see why Warren Long sent a bit of his
parachute to Jimmy, who was interested in collecting such things, and
why Jimmy told his city editor that Warren Long would do anything for
him.
The second commission that Jimmy had executed for the _Morning Press_
was the running down of a gang of robbers after one of them had looted a
mail plane that had crashed one stormy night in this selfsame “graveyard
of airplanes.” The story of that thief chase is told in “Trailing the
Air Mail Bandit.” It was a long, hard chase, too; and one which Jimmy
would never have won had it not been for these very same qualities of
enthusiasm, determination, and perseverance. For in this case Jimmy had
had to work against the greatest obstacles and the most incredible
discouragements.
In both cases he won; and his success did far more than merely clear up
two mysteries. It convinced Mr. Johnson that Jimmy was right when he
argued that the _Morning Press_ ought to add a flier to its staff. Mr.
Johnson added one; and quite naturally he chose Jimmy. Thus it was that
Jimmy’s job, like his plane, was brand-new.
Although Jimmy had handled these two big stories successfully, though of
course he had considerable help, he didn’t feel any too sure of himself
yet as a reporter. For during the short time that he had been a regular
member of the _Morning Press_ staff, there had been few stories on which
Jimmy could work. Mostly he had been doing tasks of the fetch-and-carry
sort. He had transported pictures and camera men and reporters. But he
had had little opportunity for independent news gathering. Hence he
welcomed this present chance with such eagerness.
But even though Jimmy was not yet a seasoned reporter, there was one
quality he possessed that made up for much that he still lacked. He had
a naturally keen news sense. He was gifted with what newspaper men call
a “nose for news.” He felt the dramatic possibilities in everything he
heard and saw. He seemed to sense the facts that should be secured in
order to make the most of a story. That was why he at once saw that the
tale in the morning paper about Warren Long was faulty, that the
correspondent had failed to secure the dramatic elements in the story
that would appeal most to people. That was why Jimmy knew there was a
real human interest story in this thrilling leap from a burning plane.
It was this keen news sense that now made Jimmy so eager to get the
facts—the significant facts—that the correspondent had failed to
secure. Jimmy wanted to make good. He wanted to help his paper “scoop”
all the other newspapers in New York. He believed he could do it. That
was why he was all atremble with eagerness. Like a race-horse at the
barrier, he was restive and impatient to go.
But though Jimmy was green in the newspaper game, he was well seasoned
in the flying business. He had had too much experience to take anything
for granted. Hence, while his plane was warming up, Jimmy made sure that
he was prepared for any emergency. He saw to it that his flash-light was
in its place and in good working order. That was the first thing he
thought of. In future it would always be the first thing he thought of.
Warren Long’s letter had made an indelible impression on his mind. He
saw that the plane contained a little case of emergency rations that he
habitually carried. He made sure his pistol was in place. That was a
piece of equipment most fliers lacked. Mail pilots are compelled to
carry pistols, and Jimmy had formed the habit of flying armed, while he
was in the mail service. Experience had shown him the wisdom of having a
firearm at hand in his ship. He made sure that he had his topographic
maps and other articles that he had found to be necessary or desirable.
Of course he put his camera aboard, with a plentiful supply of films.
After a final close inspection of the plane, Jimmy put on his ’chute and
snapped it fast. Then he climbed into the cabin, glanced at the
instruments, held the stick back, and shoved the throttle forward. No
longer was there the staccato of exploding gases, but instead a
thundering roar. Jimmy kept her wide open while he noted the maximum
number of revolutions his propeller was making, his oil temperature and
oil pressure. Then he switched from one “mag” to the other, but noticed
no difference in “revs.” Gradually Jimmy throttled her down to a murmur.
She was perfect!
An attendant came forward and pointed to the chocks. Jimmy nodded “O.
K.” As the attendant pulled the chocks from the wheels, Jimmy glanced at
the wind-sock on his hangar. Then he taxied slowly down the field. He
headed into the wind and gave her full gun. The ship accelerated
rapidly. With a thundering roar the ship took off gracefully, guided by
an experienced hand and brain. Jimmy was off on his assignment.
He cut over to the very edge of Long Island and followed the southern
shore-line. Over the Bay and across the southern end of Staten Island he
winged his way, heading south of west, to pick up the route of the Air
Mail. Long before he crossed the Delaware, near Easton, he was right on
the line. How much like old times it seemed, to be flying over the
beacon lights. To be sure, they were not flashing now, in the morning
light, but he knew where the towers were and he saw each one as he flew
over it, where it stood like a friendly sentinel, to point out the path.
In the clear light of day Jimmy had no need of guide-posts or flashing
lights or radio signals. He knew the route as well as a schoolboy knows
the way to the high school. But Jimmy’s plane was equipped with radio,
and ear phones were built into his flying helmet. Presently he “plugged
in” to his instrument board to see if he could pick up the weather. That
is a topic of constant interest to every flier. He had barely passed
Numidia before he heard the Bellefonte radio man sending out his hourly
weather report. “This is station WWQ, Airways Communication Station,
Bellefonte, Pa., broadcasting weather information on the Chicago-New
York airway. It is now 10 A. M. Eastern Standard Time. At Hadley Field,
N. J., scattered clouds, ceiling unlimited, visibility eight miles, wind
south, nine miles, temperature 50, dewpoint 29, barometer 29.98;
Allentown, Pa., scattered clouds, ceiling unlimited, visibility seven
miles, wind southeast, four miles, temperature 51, barometer 29.94. Park
Place, Pa., broken clouds, ceiling estimated four thousand, visibility
ten miles, wind southeast, fourteen miles, temperature 45, barometer
29.89; Sunbury, Pa., overcast light haze, ceiling estimated twenty-five
hundred, visibility four miles, wind calm, temperature 50, barometer
29.81; Numidia, Pa., overcast light haze, occasional sprinkles of rain,
ceiling twenty-four hundred, visibility three miles, wind southwest,
five miles, temperature 49, barometer 29.79. This concludes the
broadcast of weather information from station WWQ, Bellefonte, Pa.”
“That sounds good to me,” thought Jimmy. “I ought to get over to
Ringtown and back to Long Island without having to face any bad weather.
I’m certainly glad of it, for I’ll have enough trouble as it is.”
He flew on, his head phones still plugged in. Sounding endlessly he
could hear the steady stroke of the Air Mail radio beacon sending a
string of dashes—“dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah,” which tells the pilot
when he is exactly on the line. Jimmy had small need of any such help
this morning, for the air was so clear that he could see for miles in
every direction. But he thought of the invaluable help this radio beacon
must be to the mail pilots in the fog. The device had been perfected
since Jimmy was a mail pilot. He had never carried mail under its
guidance. But he was as well equipped to profit by it as any mail pilot
was. More than once he had been helped in bad weather by this very same
signal, as he flew along the mail route.
In a sense he was helped now. A little breeze had been coming up, that
blew across the line of flight. Jimmy was being blown to one side,
without realizing it. Of course he would presently have noticed that
fact anyway, and brought his ship back to the line, but the signal in
his ears gave him prompt warning. No longer did he hear the steady beat:
“dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah.” Instead, the head phones were saying:
“dot dah, dot dah, dot dah, dot dah, dot dah.” The radio signal had
changed to dot dash, dot dash. That told Jimmy that he was to the left
of the line. He knew that if he had chanced to be on the right side of
the line instead, the signals would have changed to dash dot, dash dot,
and his head phones would have said: “dah dot, dah dot, dah dot, dah
dot.” He nosed his ship a little into the wind, and presently he was
right over the line once more, and the head phones again were singing:
“dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah.”
“Gee,” thought Jimmy, “if only they had had the radio beacon from the
start, how very many tragedies the Air Mail would have been saved. It’s
fine for the men who are carrying the mail now. They always know when
they are on the line, even if it is so foggy they can’t see a thing. If
it just weren’t for these old Pennsylvania mountains, flying the eastern
leg of the Air Mail would be pie. But I guess this leg will always be a
graveyard. Hello, here’s Ringtown. I’ve got to be thinking about getting
down.”