Читать книгу Across the Pacific - J. W. Duffield - Страница 3
CHAPTER I
A Desperate Dilemma
Оглавление“Well, here we are safe and sound once more in the United States!” exclaimed Walter Hapworth, as he looked below from the plane in which he was flying and saw the rolling waters of the Rio Grande that marked the borders of the two republics.
“That’s what,” replied Ted Scott, the famous aviator, who was sitting at the controls of the Silver Streak, the plane that was so closely associated with his own renown, “and mighty glad I am to be again in our country.”
“You certainly did have a rather lively time while you were down in Mexico,” laughed Hapworth.
“Lively and deadly at the same time,” replied Ted. “It was the first country in which I ever had a rope about my neck. Gee, I can feel the clutch of it yet! I wake up sometimes at night with the sensation of strangling.”
“It sure was a case of touch and go,” rejoined Hapworth. “If that little Conchita hadn’t come along just then, they’d have strung you up. About the closest call you ever had, I guess, and that’s saying a lot. But I just happened to think, Ted, how is it that we’re able to talk together as easily as we’re doing? In all our other trips the engine was roaring so that we had to scribble notes to each other and send them through the tube. What’s the answer? I can hear you now with hardly any trouble at all.”
“I was wondering how long it would be before you tumbled,” smiled Ted. “I’ve added a silencer that does away with most of the noise. As a matter of fact, I had the thing on board before we left Bromville on our trip to Mexico City, but you were in such a hurry to get away that I hadn’t made all the connections. Since I’ve been in Mexico I’ve fixed it up to the queen’s taste, and now it’s working perfectly.”
“It’s an immense improvement,” commented Hapworth. “It used to get my goat to have to write a note when time was pressing and I needed to speak to you at once. What is the contrivance that you’re using?”
“It’s a muffler that moderates the noise from the exhaust,” explained Ted. “It consists of a metal cylinder with the exhaust manifold pipe welded to one side. Inside the cylinder is a tube with the back portion perforated with small holes or gills. The ends are open to the air, so that when the plane is in flight the air passes through the tube creating a negative pressure in the rear walls where the gills are located. This increases the velocity of the exhaust gases inside the device and the gases leave through the small gills and mix with the air that has entered the front end. And you see for yourself how much that reduces the noise from the engine.”
“It sure does,” agreed Hapworth, “but doesn’t it reduce the speed?”
“Just a trifle,” replied Ted. “But the effect on the climb and the speed is almost negligible. Now all that remains is for some one to invent a device that will do away with the noise of the propeller and the valve gears, and then there won’t be any sound at all worth speaking of.”
“What a boon that would have been on our Pacific trip,” observed Hapworth. “By the way, Ted, speaking of the Pacific, did you read, of those fellows that are planning to make a flight from California to Australia?”
“I read something about it,” said Ted. “But so many of those schemes go up in smoke that I haven’t paid much attention to it. California to Australia! Gee, that will be some hop, especially if they make it a non-stop flight!”
“I don’t think they’re quite so ambitious as that,” said Hapworth. “They’ll probably stop at Hawaii and Fiji on the way. But even at that, some of the stretches will be three thousand miles or more.”
“I wish them luck,” said Ted. “But just now I’ve got something nearer than Australia to think of. I don’t like the looks of that cloud bank,” pointing to a black and menacing mass on the horizon. “Looks as though we were in for a spell of weather.”
“Any flying field where we could land, if necessary?” asked Hapworth. “I’d hate to be caught in a Texas norther.”
“No airport within a couple of hundred miles,” replied Ted. “Of course the country is pretty level here and I could probably make a landing, though I’d hate to like the mischief.”
Gradually the cloud bank extended until it covered the greater part of the sky. The sun was blotted out and a twilight sombreness enveloped the plane and its occupants. Landmarks were no longer distinguishable and Ted Scott was reduced to depending altogether upon his instruments.
On through the gathering darkness the Silver Streak whizzed at the rate of over a hundred miles an hour.
But any hope that Ted might have cherished of outspeeding the storm proved futile. It was gathering now with great rapidity.
From the dense banks of clouds jagged sheets of lightning shot athwart the sky. The crash of thunder became deafening and almost continuous. The rain still held off, but the wind was steadily rising and its ominous growl was like that of a wild beast at its kill.
It came at first in fitful gusts, each one stronger than the last. Then it burst upon the aviators almost with the fury of a hurricane.
It struck the Silver Streak on the quarter with a violence that almost made the plane turn turtle. It was all that Ted could do to get her on an even keel. By skilful jockeying he got her in a position where the wind beat directly from the back and then he let her drive.
Had the wind continued in one direction, his task would have been comparatively easy. But every few minutes it veered and at times appeared to be coming from all quarters at once, so that the plane seemed to be in the very vortex of a cyclone.
Ted had been in many storms but none worse than this. The unchained demons of the tempest tugged at the plane as though they would tear it to pieces. Once it turned completely over, so that the occupants were flying with their heads down, and only the straps by which they were held prevented them from being hurled to the earth below.
When, after a struggle, Ted had brought the machine right side up, he pulled the joy stick and began to climb for altitude, hoping to find a quieter stratum of air. He had been flying at an altitude of about five thousand feet. Now he mounted to eight thousand, ten, twelve and fifteen. But the higher he got the fiercer the gale seemed to become, and he again descended to a lower level.
The rain was now falling in torrents, as though all the windows of heaven had been opened. It crashed against the window of the cockpit, obscuring Ted’s sight and making it impossible to see twenty feet ahead of him.
Still, as long as he maintained his present altitude, he knew that he could not come into collision with anything, unless indeed some other plane should come zooming through the darkness and strike him head on.
With every moment the storm increased in fury. At times the Silver Streak was tossed about like a chip on the surface of a torrent. A lesser pilot would have got rattled by the terrific power of the elements and lost control of the plane. Then would have come an awful downward rush and—death!
Ted jockeyed the plane as a skilful rider manages a spirited steed, yielding here, stiffening there, now rising, now descending, seeking to outwit the wind and ever get the violence of its blow on the quarter of the plane that could stand it best.
A thrill went through him, however, when he found that one of the wings failed to respond as it should to a move of his controls.
“What is it, Ted?” Hapworth shouted in his ear, noting the worried look on his companion’s face.
“This right wing,” replied Ted. “It isn’t working just right. Perhaps it’s been strained by the storm or, worse still, it may be cracked.”
If the latter were the case, they were indeed in a precarious situation, for the crack would be apt to widen under the beating of the gale, and if the wing once gave way they were done for. No human skill could in that case keep the plane from falling to the earth like a bird with a broken wing.
Now Ted’s task was doubled, for he had to manipulate the plane in such a way that most of the strain would come upon the uninjured left wing. He had to summon all his resources to accomplish it in the face of the fury of the elements.
He did it, however, to a great degree in the hour of stress and strain that followed. Every moment he dreaded to hear a snap that would tell him that he and his companion were doomed.
Then at length the storm began to abate. The lightning flashes became less frequent. The rolling of the thunder subsided to a dull muttering and finally ceased. The torrential rain dwindled to a drizzle and above them rifts of light began to appear through the darkness of the clouds.
Ted was drenched with perspiration from his tremendous efforts, and every sinew and muscle felt as though it had been beaten. But a great load had been lifted from his mind now that the wind had died down and he discovered that he could keep the plane on an even keel.
But now a landing had become imperative so that he could repair the injured wing. He could see clearly that it was drooping and at any moment might give way.
He looked downward to see if any suitable spot offered itself. But here he found himself baffled. The hot earth was steaming from the rain that had drenched it and was enveloped in haze. He did not know whether he was over a city or the open plain, woodland or river.
“Doesn’t look any too good, eh, Ted?” said Hapworth.
“It sure doesn’t,” replied Ted. “Do you notice how the plane is wobbling? And this haze is so thick that you could cut it with a knife.”
He pushed the joy stick and the plane gradually descended until it was flying at a height of three hundred feet. Ted did not dare to go farther for fear that he might hit a tree or a steeple.
Even at this lower altitude, however, he could not discern the earth, and his anxiety grew with every passing moment.
He thought of climbing out on the wing and attempting to repair it while the plane was in motion. But he could not tell just how far the crack, if any existed, was from the body of the plane, and there was the danger that his added weight might bring on the catastrophe he dreaded.
Just then a shout came from Hapworth.
“I think the haze is scattering, Ted!” he cried. “I caught a glimpse just now of the ground.”
“Good!” exclaimed Ted. “What did it look like? Open and level?”
“Couldn’t say,” replied his companion, “but it must be fairly level, for I thought I caught sight of a railway track. Perhaps I’ll have another chance in a minute.”
But the minute was multiplied by five, by ten, before their eagerly searching eyes were rewarded.
“I see it,” shouted Ted. “A railway track, sure enough. I’m going down. The plane won’t keep afloat ten minutes longer and we’ve got to take a chance.”
The haze was shredding rapidly now, and Ted could plainly see the railway tracks stretching beneath him, although he could not see far in any direction.
On the other side of the tracks was what appeared to be an open field and this Ted chose as his objective.
Laboring painfully now, the plane, which had come down to within a few feet of the ground, was moving slowly toward the tracks when Ted’s ears caught the whistle of a train and a moment later a rush and roar that told him it was near at hand.
His blood froze in his veins. He could not stop at that short notice. He tried to rise, but the plane failed to respond.
He must cross the tracks!