The Boy Aviators with the Air Raiders: A Story of the Great World War. Goldfrap John Henry
both wide doors flew back, for the boys had arranged things so that it required but a simple movement to accomplish this. Then Billy hustled toward the seaplane, which no longer stood there like a black shadow; for Frank had, with the pressure of his finger, caused the powerful searchlight placed in the bow of the remarkable craft to flood the space in front of the hangar down to and out on the water of the harbor.
Billy swung himself aboard almost in the twinkling of an eye. Then a lever was manipulated and with a rush the monster seaplane started. Even as it left the shelter of the building, Billy, hanging on with nervous hands, could see several figures in the dazzling flood of white light spring wildly aside so as to avoid being crushed by the oncoming giant seaplane as it tore down the inclined track leading to the water.
CHAPTER IV.
THE ESCAPE
Ahead of them lay that track of dazzling light. Every fragment of timber used in the construction of the inclined trestle upon which the seaplane was expected to reach the water was as plainly visible as at midday, with the sun shining above.
Billy fairly held his breath in fear lest the swift rush of the hydro-aëroplane should catch the two men on the slope unprepared, and hurl them into space. Just in the nick of time they threw themselves to one side, and the plunging monster glided by, so close that had he so willed, Billy could have thrust out a hand and touched one of the shrinking figures.
Then came a tremendous splash as they struck the water. Frank had made his calculations so carefully that there was not the slightest danger of a mishap. The boat was descending at such an angle that it instantly shot off the wheels that were underneath, and skimmed along the surface of the water like a great duck.
Billy drew his breath again, for it seemed as though they had actually run the gauntlet in safety. He heard the familiar throb of the reliable motors beginning to take up their sweet song, which told that Frank had started the machinery at the proper second, so that they did not lose any of the impetus gained in that rush down the slope.
From up in the quarter where they knew the hangar must be, came loud cries of anger. Those who had planned to capture the seaplane when it was in prime condition for a flight to the German lines had evidently met with a most aggravating disappointment.
Suddenly the brilliant light vanished, shutting them in a pall of darkness that was all the more dense because of their having been staring into that illuminated avenue ahead, along which the seaplane was rushing at fair speed.
“It’s all clear in front, Billy,” Frank hastened to say, knowing that his companion must naturally think of the danger of a collision the first thing.
“Listen to ’em growl!” chuckled Billy, who had evidently been greatly amused as well as interested in the remarkable dash of the Sea Eagle. “But, after all, that was what I’d call a close shave, Frank. Didn’t you hear the door being smashed in as we started?”
“I thought I did,” replied the other, “but I knew that nothing up there could give us any trouble. The only chance of our being wrecked was for those on the inclined plane to place some obstruction on the track that would throw the wheels of our carriage off, and dump us in a heap below.”
“They didn’t want to wreck the seaplane, which was what saved us from that smashup,” ventured Billy, and then quickly adding: “Hello! shut her off, did you, Frank?”
The musical hum of the twin motors and the whir of the revolving propellers had suddenly ceased, though the boat still continued to move along the top of the little waves coming in from the Channel.
“Yes, we have gone far enough for the present,” replied the pilot.
They sat there for a little while, listening to the various sounds that reached their ears from the shore. Not far away the lights of Dunkirk could be seen, though these were by no means as brilliant as they might have been before the war broke out. This was on account of the fact that at any hour a raid from German aëroplanes might be expected in and around the encampment of the British troops.
“This is about the queerest situation we’ve ever found ourselves in, Frank,” ventured Billy presently, as he felt the boat moving up and down gently on the bosom of the sea. “It’s an experience we’ll never forget. I’m wondering what the next move on the program is going to be? How can we get ashore tonight in this terrible darkness?”
“We may make up our minds not to try it,” Frank told him quietly, as though he had some sort of plan in his mind, hatched on the spur of the moment.
“What’s the idea, Frank?” asked Billy eagerly. “No matter how you figure it I’m game to stand by you.”
“I’d never question that, Billy,” declared the other warmly. “You’ve proved your grit many a time in the past. But here’s the way the case stands. We could make an ascent from the water if we wanted, but on such a pitch-dark night that would mean trouble about coming down again. So what’s to hinder our staying here until morning – lying on the water like a duck?”
“If the wind doesn’t come up with the change in the tide, we could do it as easy as anything,” assented Billy. “She rides like a duck, and could stand a lot more rough water than we’re getting now. Frank, let’s call it a go.”
“We will find it pretty cold, of course, you understand, Billy?”
“Shucks! haven’t we got on our leather jackets that are lined with fleece that have given us solid comfort many a time when we were six thousand feet and more up in the cold air? Why, Frank, we can strap ourselves to our seats, you know, and one of us can get a few winks of sleep while the other watches, ready to switch on the searchlight if anything threatens.”
“It’s plain to be seen that you’re set on trying a night of it,” said Frank, no doubt well pleased to have it so. “I’m worrying more about Pudge than of myself. Wish we knew he was all right.”
“The same here,” said Billy. “Frank, we must keep listening all through the night to catch his signal, if ever he makes it. You know we’ve got that code for communicating by means of fish horns. If Pudge gets to the hangar and finds that we’re not around, the first thing he’ll think will be that the seaplane has been stolen.”
“Unless,” Frank hastily interrupted, “he happened to be near enough to hear something of the row, when he ought to be able to guess what really happened. In that case I expect that later on, when he thinks the coast may be clear, Pudge will try to communicate with us. As you say, we must keep on the alert. If you hear a sound that comes stealing from far away on the shore and resembles the bawl of a bull, answer it. Pudge will be in a stew about us, of course.”
They sat there for some time listening, and exchanging occasional remarks. Then, at Billy’s suggestion, they made use of the stout straps that were attached to each seat, intended to enable the navigators of the air to reduce to a minimum the risk of falling from a dizzy height.
“Take your choice, Frank, first watch or second,” was the next proposition advanced by the one-time reporter. “I’m used to be up at all hours of the night —that was my busy time on the paper. So turn in, and I’ll take charge of the deck.”
“It’ll only be a cat nap then, Billy,” said the other, settling himself as comfortably as the conditions allowed, which was not saying much. “See that bright star over there in the west; it will drop behind the horizon in about an hour or so. Shake me then if I happen to be asleep.”
“All right, Frank. And if anything crops up in the meantime that bothers me, I’m going to disturb you in a hurry.”
“I hope you will, Billy; we can’t afford to take any chances, understand, for the sake of a little sleep. Listen for signs of Pudge. It would relieve me a whole lot if I knew that he was safe.”
After that Billy sat there and kept watch. The buoyant craft that had been so cleverly constructed so as to be equally at home on the water or in the air, rode the lazy billows that came rolling in from the Channel. The only sounds Billy could hear close by were the constant lapping of the waves against the side of the craft; though further