Read Ebook: The Flying Reporter by Theiss Lewis E Lewis Edwin

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Ebook has 822 lines and 60952 words, and 17 pages

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."

Jimmy Meets an Old Friend--Johnnie Lee, of the Wireless Patrol

For many miles--ever since he crossed the Delaware into Pennsylvania, in fact, Jimmy had been flying over a region so rough and rugged that it strikes terror to the heart of the aviator. For here Nature has plowed up the land in rugged furrows that rise thousands of feet. In places the earth is jumbled in confused masses. Rocks, trees, precipices, bogs, and deep ravines characterize the whole countryside. Rare, indeed, is the level spot that is large enough, or smooth enough, or firm enough to permit a safe landing. And well Jimmy knew what awaited him or any other aviator who was luckless enough to be forced down in this terrible region. And yet this country was tame beside that of the "graveyard of airplanes" in the western half of the state. It was here, when he was fairly in the heart of these terrible mountains, that Warren Long had found his plane afire. As Jimmy looked down now at the torn and jagged face of the country, he fairly shivered when he thought of the terrible situation in which his friend had been placed such a short time previously. For it was obviously impossible to land a plane safely in these ragged hills, especially in the dark; and to Jimmy it seemed almost as dangerous to trust to a parachute. For there was no way by which the falling flier could tell when he was about to land with a crash on a rock, or a jagged stump, or in the splintering arms of a pine-tree--no way, it came to Jimmy as an afterthought, unless he carried a flash-light powerful enough to pierce the blackness of the night. And Jimmy felt again that same feeling of gratitude to Uncle Sam that he had felt many a time previously for the little emergency landing fields along the lighted airway that the Government has spied out and marked off with encircling lights at night, where aviators in distress can land in safety.

It was one of these emergency fields--that at Ringtown--which Warren Long had been striving to reach on the preceding night. And it was this same field that Jimmy was now heading for.

Jimmy had been flying rather high. Gently pulling back the throttle, he went into a steep spiral. At about eight hundred feet he straightened up while he glanced at the wind-sock. "Bang" went the gun again, and Jimmy flew around the edge of the field into the wind. The field was none too large. Tall trees on the lee side of it called for plenty of energetic side-slipping and fish-tailing. Jimmy straightened her out, held her off to lose flying speed, and as soon as he felt the wheels touch hauled back on the stick and stepped on his brakes. Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief and thanked his lucky stars for those brakes, for the ship came to rest within twenty-five feet of a stone fence. In another moment he was taxiing safely across the field toward the beacon light tower, where a knot of men and boys had gathered, waiting for Jimmy's ship to come to rest.

Jimmy throttled down his engine to let it idle for a few minutes so the valves could cool before he "cut his switch." He stepped to the ground. The little company of spectators surged toward him.

"Jimmy!" cried the lad, rushing forward with outstretched hand. "I didn't know you at first, with your helmet on. I'm awfully glad to see you." And he fairly wrung Jimmy's hand.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Jimmy, when they had finished shaking hands.

"I might ask you the same question," laughed Johnnie. "I am here because I can't very well help it. My father's health broke down, and the doctor said he would have to get into the country. We have relatives close by named Healy. So Dad bought a little farm here. I've been at home, doing most of the farming. You are the first member of the old Wireless Patrol I have seen since we moved down here. My! It's been tough to be separated from all the gang. I think of the old days often, and of the fine times we used to have when we were in camp at Fort Brady."

"They were good old days, weren't they, Johnnie?" said Jimmy. "How the old crowd has gotten separated. There's Alec Cunningham down in New Jersey in the oyster business, and Roy Mercer a wireless operator on an ocean steamer, and Bob Martin in the Lighthouse Service, and Henry Harper in the Coast Guard. My, it doesn't seem possible that the old crowd could be scattered so. Can you tell me about any of the other fellows of the Wireless Patrol?"

"I can tell you a whole lot about Jimmy Donnelly," laughed Johnnie.

"How's that?" demanded Jimmy. "What do you know about me and how did you find it out?"

"You don't think anybody could have all the adventures you have had, finding lost air mail pilots and rounding up robbers and not have people know about it, do you? Why, I read about those things in the newspaper."

"I certainly can," said Johnnie, "for I saw the whole thing happen, and the pilot landed right on our farm and I helped him get back to his burning ship to try to save some of the mail."

"Well, if that isn't luck," said Jimmy. "Take me to the burned plane, will you, and tell me what you know about the affair."

"All right. Come along," and Johnnie led the way toward a clearing on the slope of a hill at some little distance.

The way was rough, for they had to pass over some stony fields and through a patch of timber. They had ample time to talk as they walked.

"How did you happen to see Warren Long's burning plane?" asked Jimmy.

"I was looking for it."

"Looking for it! What do you mean?"

"Just what I say. I was looking for it, though I had no idea it was going to be afire. You see, ever since you got into the Air Mail, Jimmy, I have been interested in the mail planes. I have always hoped that one of them would land here. And as long as you were a mail pilot I guess I was always hoping that you would be piloting the ship that stopped here. Well, I got so much interested in the mail planes that I kept right on watching for them, even after you left the service. You know the first night mail plane always comes over here just about bedtime, and I almost always step out-of-doors and watch it sail over."

"I know how you feel," said Jimmy.

"That must have been while Warren Long was fighting the flames," interrupted Jimmy.

"Do you live far from it?" inquired Jimmy.

"About half a mile, I suppose, though our land runs clear down to the landing field. Anyway, before we were half-way to the field we saw that the pilot would never make it. The whole airplane seemed to be aflame. It was fairly spouting fire from all sides. I knew the pilot would have to jump, and I couldn't understand why he stayed with the ship half as long as he did."

"You would if you knew Warren Long," interrupted Jimmy. "That was just like him. He risked his life to try to save the mail."

"He risked it, all right," said Johnnie. "His plane was just a mass of flames. I don't see why he wasn't burned to death right in the cockpit. I just stood still and held my breath while I waited for him to jump."

"Did you see him when he did jump?"

"See him? Why, you could see everything. The whole sky was as light as day. Out he came in a tremendous dive right through a sheet of flame. I never breathed while I waited for him to open his parachute. Do you know what happened? It was awful."

"What was awful?" demanded Jimmy.

"Why, that burning ship turned over on its side the instant the pilot left it and dived straight after him. I thought sure the plane was going to crash into him. It was frightful to watch. My heart simply stopped beating while that plane roared after him. And the pilot was as cool as an icicle. He just kept on falling and falling and never moved a muscle. As the plane shot by him I thought it had struck him, and I cried right out. But somehow the plane missed him and shot down like a flaming meteor. Gee! You should have seen what happened then. Your friend had his parachute open the instant the blazing ship had passed him."

"How high was he?"

"Not very high. Just a few hundred feet. But the wind caught his parachute instantly and snapped it open with a jerk. I could see the pilot spin around like a weather-vane in a wind squall. You know he was falling head foremost all this time, and the parachute jerked him upright quicker than you could wink your eye. It must have given him an awful jolt."

"What happened then?" demanded Jimmy.

"Why, Dad and I separated. He ran toward the plane, to try to save the mail, but I never gave a thought to the mail. I ran to help the pilot. I couldn't help thinking that after all it might be you, Jimmy. You know a fellow can never be sure just who's in a plane."

"That was mighty kind of you, Johnnie. But I wasn't in the plane, and that lets me out of the story. What did you do when you reached the pilot?"

"I got to him soon after he hit the ground. He was all tangled up in his parachute, for he had come down in some scrub growth and the cords were twisted among the stems, and the parachute itself was fast in some bushes. He had landed pretty hard, too, and was half stunned. And he wrenched one of his ankles badly. Maybe it's sprained. Anyway, I helped him to get out of his harness, and I told him just to sit down and take it easy while I gathered up the parachute. But he didn't want to wait an instant. He said he had to get to the ship to try to save the mail. So he just snatched out his knife and cut a big piece out of the parachute, and then we hurried over to the burning ship as fast as he could walk. He never said a word, but I know his ankle must have hurt him terribly."

"Did you save any of the mail?"

"No. When we got there the fire was so hot you couldn't get anywhere near the ship. Dad and some other men had tried to pull some mail-sacks out of the plane, but it just wasn't possible. The fire was too hot. I wasn't much interested in the mail or even in the plane. I couldn't think of anything but the pilot. He looked awful. When we got near the burning ship, where it was light enough to see him well, I noticed at once that his eyebrows and lashes were burned off, his face was badly scorched and his hands were burned almost raw. It's a wonder he wasn't burned to a crisp."

"His flying suit and his helmet and goggles saved him," said Jimmy. "What I can't understand is why he didn't jump sooner. He must have known well enough that the ship was doomed."

"He did. I asked him why he stayed in it so long, and he told me that he couldn't leave the ship any sooner because it might have fallen on some of the homes beneath him. You see he was right over the town. So he just kept right on flying, with the flames all about him, until he was sure he was clear of the town. What do you think of that?"

"I am not surprised. In fact, I should be surprised if he had done anything else. It's exactly the sort of thing Warren Long would do."

"It was the bravest thing I ever heard of," said Johnnie.

"Could you do anything for him?" demanded Jimmy. "His burns must have been very painful."

"Sure we did. I took him home with me and mother put some grease on his face and bandaged his hands. But he didn't seem to think about anything except the mail. That evidently worried him. The pilot soon caught a train going east, and that is the last I saw of him."

"Well, you certainly have given me a vivid account of the affair, Johnnie. You'd make a good reporter."

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