THE AEROPLANE AS A WAR MACHINE.
The government had selected an old colonial home, sequestered in a bit
of forest a few miles south of Arlington, as a base for its practical
aeroplane experiments. It had selected this place for two important
reasons. The house, now almost in ruins, was on a ridge just beyond
the tidal flats or salt marshes west of New York, and it fronted on
what had been a plaza. This made an admirable starting ground and from
it there was an uninterrupted but distant view of the sea. From this
leafy retreat, well off the main road and only approached over a now
weed-grown lane, closely guarded, the airships could emerge in the
early dawn or at twilight, sail over the untenanted marshes and return,
practically without being observed.
The house, which had an old-fashioned, glassless octagonal observatory
on top, was further screened from discovery by a new fence. On the
building itself there had been but few repairs made. Major Squiers and
Lieutenant Purcell, when they were there, occupied adjoining rooms
on the first floor. No attempt had been made to furnish these. The
officers practically “camped out” in the big, bare rooms. On the second
floor were a dozen or more soldiers, including three sergeants and a
corporal. The two men who assisted Mr. Wright at Fort Meyer were also
here. In the yard in the rear was a cook tent. The men ate in another
tent beneath the trees.
Beyond the tents, and approached by a path running through denser trees
and a wilderness of weedy vegetation, was the plaza, or outlook, on
which the long since dead owner had been accustomed to sniff the ocean
breezes and from which, far across the marshy meadows the ocean might
be seen.
Into this interesting place Morey was conducted by Corporal Steele
early in the day. Major Squiers was there and in charge. Lieutenant
Purcell was expected in three or four days. The boy was turned over at
once to Sergeant McLean, who took him to the commander’s apartment.
“Since you are now all here,” said Major Squiers, turning to the
sergeant, after a few moment’s talk with Morey, “you may as well draw
lots for the order in which you are to be called. We may make a flight
at any time. Some officials from Washington will arrive tomorrow or the
day after. When they do, we must be ready to begin work at once.”
These flights were for the purpose of navigating, if possible, an
aeroplane from the Arlington ridge, across the marshes, over Staten
Island and then dropping explosives on a target in the Lower Bay, south
of Staten Island. This target was a condemned man-of-war, which for
several weeks had been mysteriously anchored off the shore. In order
not to attract undue attention the vessel was manned. But officers and
men were prepared to abandon the hulk at any time on signal.
The aeroplane shed was a canvas house on the garden plaza. By its
side was a shop. The aeroplane tested at Fort Meyer was installed
here with a second one on the ground in crates. This one had just
arrived. The plans of the War Department were twofold. Not only were
various explosives to be tested by being dropped from a swiftly flying
car, but some of the actual conditions of war were to be present. It
was especially desired to make the experiment cover some ground. The
distance from the Arlington ridge to the Lower Bay was nearly twenty
miles. It was believed that if this distance could be covered by a
machine without descending and a safe return accomplished, that some of
the exigencies of actual warfare would have been met.
Morey was sent to the upper floor to install himself. While he was
picking out a cot he was recalled to the commander’s apartment. A
drawing of lots was to take place to decide the order in which the four
available operators would be called on to serve.
“First,” explained Major Squiers, “although you are all soldiers, not
one of whom would shirk his duty, the department wants to make this
fact plain. This work is so new and so hazardous that it is to be the
policy of the Secretary of War to call for volunteers in aeroplaning.
In actual warfare it is not impossible that weapons of defense will
be at once devised that will make the work of an aeroplane almost a
deliberate sacrifice of life. If any one of you wishes to wait until
the science we are developing is more advanced and aviation of this
sort is attended with less danger, do not be ashamed to say so. It will
not be charged against you.”
Four men smiled.
“As I anticipated,” said Major Squiers, smiling in turn. “All of you
are eager Hobsons.”
As a result of the drawing the order was:
1st. Corporal D. M. Steele, 26 years old, Omaha, Nebraska (the
dirigible experimental station).
2nd. Private Mortimer Marshall, 18 years old, Green Springs’ testing
grounds.
3rd. Sergeant S. A. McLean, 37 years old, Fort Meyer.
4th. P. S. Bloom, 29 years old, Fort Meyer.
As the men filed out of the room Major Squiers detained Morey a moment.
“I’m rather glad, my son, you were not first.”
“But, I’m second,” proudly replied the boy. “I’ll show you that
Lieutenant Purcell is a good teacher.”
“By the way,” added his superior, “don’t believe that your father’s
project has been buried. It has reached the engineering department.
Unofficially I hear that it has made a sensation. That is, it has
started a hot dispute. That looks good, doesn’t it?”
“It doesn’t look as good to me as this,” said Morey, holding up his
little square of cardboard numbered ‘2.’ “I hope it is of use and is
worth something, but I wouldn’t trade my chance here for all the money
it may bring.”
“How is that?” inquired Major Squiers, puzzled.
“Because I want to do something myself.”
“When your chance comes I’m sure you will,” said the elder man very
kindly, and he patted the boy on the head.
Before the first flight was made Lieutenant Purcell arrived--three
days later--and the next day a sudden message came that the official
board was on the proving ground on the south shore of Staten Island.
There was hurry and anxiety but no commotion in the distant New Jersey
station. At six in the afternoon Corporal Steele, bareheaded and in
his shirt sleeves, made a short experimental flight. Major Squiers had
left the camp at four o’clock to board a waiting tug at Jersey City.
At twenty minutes past six, after a safe return to the plaza, where
he took on two cordite bombs weighing thirty pounds each, the eager
aviator was off like a bird over the Jersey flats. At half past six he
had disappeared in the smoke wafting southward from Jersey City.
Just after seven o’clock Lieutenant Purcell received this message by
telephone:
“Steele’s flight was admirable but he failed in his drop. Both bombs
delivered at once and too soon. They struck the water and disappeared
without exploding. If he returns successfully and there is time before
dark, make a second trial. Attempt nothing after dark. Take no chances
with shipping in the bay.”
Corporal Steele was on the starting plateau at a quarter past seven.
The operator was chagrined, but not discouraged. His control of the
machine had been perfect. He at once insisted that there should be
an automatic device for releasing the explosive independently of the
operator’s hands. But, in the midst of his explanation, Lieutenant
Purcell turned to Morey. There was at least three quarters of an hour
of twilight remaining. The aeroplane was turned, two new bombs were
hastily brought and Morey got into the seat.
His great chance had come at last. Calmly and distinctly he gave
the word and the car was hurled into the still evening air. Taking
advantage of his start Morey held his forward or horizontal rudder
skyward and allowed the obedient aeroplane to mount upward as it flew
through the almost breezeless air. Up and up he soared until the grey
marsh beneath was only a haze. A thousand feet above the tidewater
swamp the young aviator brought himself to a horizontal course. Before
and beyond him he could make out the horizon-bounded sea. In a few
moments the outlines of Staten Island became clear in the dusk and then
the unmistakable grey target rose out of the water beyond.
The two bombs had been suspended in little net hammocks on each side of
the aviator. On each was a wire handle. Morey reached into his pocket
and took out his new knife. Opening the largest blade he placed the
knife between his teeth. Then carefully, while some distance from the
target vessel, he drew the other bomb from its hammock and placed it in
his lap. He was ready.
A thousand yards from the anchored marsh he settled himself and judged
his distance. He was counting on some breeze at sea. He could feel it
gently wafting landward from the northeast. His experience at Green
Springs had taught him every movement of the machine. As he drew nearer
to the vessel he bore off into the breeze as if to pass to one side
of the target. He seemed about to sail by it on the north when with a
quick shift of his vertical rudders he turned. The aeroplane trembled,
seemed to catch itself for a moment and then, with a long, graceful
curve it headed for the vessel and darted downward like a bird.
There was another rapid movement of the horizontal rudders and the
darting fall was checked. The airship wavered as if to gather itself
for a new flight. The swiftly beating propellers sent the air against
the planes and the machine began to rise once more. There was an
instant’s pause. The boy’s hand shot forward to cut away the hanging
bomb with the keen blade. At the same instant Morey’s knees opened and
the deadly package in his lap slid between his legs. Almost at the same
moment the two bombs crashed upon the steel deck and the aeroplane had
darted on.
There was a roar, a flash of fire far beneath, and Morey knew that he
had made the first successful experiment with the aeroplane as a war
machine; he had won “in the clouds for Uncle Sam.”