CHAPTER XV
THE START
By eleven o'clock the tanks of the Sky-Bird II had been filled withgasoline and oil, and the radiator of each engine supplied with twelvegallons of water. In addition to this, its crew had carefully goneover every brace, control, bolt, and nut to make sure that everythingwas tight, the engines had been run detached from the propeller for afew minutes to warm them up, and every bearing not reached by thelubricating system was well oiled by hand.
Mr. Giddings had appeared about an hour earlier, bringing with him thetwo special correspondents of the _Daily Independent_, as well asseveral other newspaper men representing various prominent foreignpublications. As soon as our boys had finished shaking hands withthese, they were introduced to a number of well-known Governmentofficials and aviation representatives, who added their good wishes forthe success of the big undertaking. Then came Mr. Wrenn with a partyof his own distinguished friends, which called for more hand-shaking.
At twelve-fifteen the rival machines were pushed out of the hangar andtook up positions in the field, ready for the signal to "hop." Attwelve-fifty both crews, with the exception of their respectivecrankers-up, entered their machines, and a heavy hush fell over thegreat crowd which had assembled to see the start of the first racearound the world's circumference. It was without denial an auspiciousmoment, and as they stood there and looked at the two big mechanicalbirds which were to attempt this prodigious feat, embracing almost25,000 miles, threading every mile of the distance through the air inthe astounding time of ten days, the situation was so fraught with awe,particularly to the native Panamanians, that now at the last moment allwere practically voiceless.
The rival publishers gave their parting instructions as their crewsclimbed into the cabins, and these were to the same effect: "Don'tforget, boys, to report to us at every stop, and mail us all thepictures you can. Between stops use your wireless for reports wheneverpossible. Good-bye, and the best of luck!"
Lieutenant-Colonel Warren J. Hess, a gentleman prominent in Americanaviation circles, had been selected as judge of the contest. He wasnot only to give the signal to start off the flyers, but with Mr.Giddings, was to await in Panama their return, and demand from eachcrew upon arrival a document containing the signature of the portofficial at each scheduled landing.
Colonel Hess, looking at his watch, now raised his hand, andinstinctively those in the front of each of the long lines ofspectators flanking the run-way crowded back so that the airplaneswould not strike them as they dashed down the field for the take-off.Tom Meeks and Chuck Crossman spun the propellers, sprang back to escapetheir vicious whirr as the respective engines fired, and quicklyclambered into their machines.
It was exactly one o'clock. Both airplanes taxied down the runway sideby side. They also arose together, amid a great cheering, some ninetyfeet apart, shooting grandly up into the air above the heads of thepeople in the lower end of the field. At a height of a thousand feet,the gray _Clarion_ bent eastward. At fifteen hundred feet, theSky-Bird did likewise. From the open windows of each of the cabinsfluttered white handkerchiefs in a final farewell, and many abroad-brimmed hat in the hands of the excited populace below was wavedin answer.
Flying low, the _Clarion_ started away in the lead, while her rival hadbeen mounting to her own preferred higher level. By the time theSky-Bird had straightened out, her contemporary was well in advance.
"We're losing ground," said Bob Giddings anxiously.
"Don't worry about that," said Paul Ross, who was at the throttle; "wecan catch them when we're ready. We'll get a better current of air uphere."
Paul's maneuver had been due to the fact that heavy head-winds wereblowing, and he was quite sure if he went higher he would get above theworst of these.
As they now shot along on an even keel, it seemed hard to realize thatthey had at last started out on the important flight for which they hadbeen planning and working so long; and as Paul watched his instrumentsand the scudding rival machine ahead, he could not help wondering whatthe issue of it all might be--if the fates would be so kind as to smileenough on the Sky-Bird to bring her in ahead of the _Clarion_ andwithin schedule time. Many weary miles must be covered before theywould see Panama again. And when they would land in that air-dromeagain--if in truth they ever did!--would it be as victors, or aslisteners to the jeers of the rough crew of the other plane?
It was not an ideal day for the start from a weather standpoint. Infact, a consultation of the weather reports at the Panama Bureau beforethey left had shown a prophecy of strong northeasterly winds andpossible showers. The sun was almost shut out by patches of cloud,glinting through only occasionally; but neither crew had felt likepostponing the start, so eager were they to be off and so confidentwere they in the capabilities of their respective machines to meetalmost any sort of bad weather.
Straight along the Isthmus both machines proceeded, making a bee-linefor Georgetown, which it was hoped to reach at daylight. The coastlinewas low along here and very uneven, with numerous pretty little islandson the Pacific side, the waters surrounding them sparkling like jewelswhen the sun's rays would struggle through the clouds and strike thetossing waves.
In the northern part of the Republic of Colombia they passed just tothe right of the western terminal range of the great Andes Mountains,and within an hour's time were sailing through Quindiu Pass of thecentral arm of the same mountains. At this time they were over twelvethousand feet above sea-level. Then came the table-lands of westernVenezuela, open in places and covered with thick growths of tropicalforests in others.
As they approached the foothills of the eastern chain or arm of themountains, Paul took the throttle, and they steadily arose in order toclear the high pinnacles facing them, and finally, at a height offifteen thousand feet--the greatest height they had yet attained--theywent over them. The airplane encountered several "air pockets" in thisprocess, which might have been disastrous to them except for thestabilizing effect of the automatic-pilot. As it was, the machinepitched rather roughly in surviving them.
In sweeping past the last crag they had come very near to striking,owing to a cloud which enwrapped it. Just in time Paul's sharp eyeshad seen the white bank of snow on the crag ahead, and he elevated hiscraft enough to pass over. It was so cold up here, even in the cabin,that the boys had to don their heavy coats.
Just as they turned the nose of their machine toward a lower level,running at reduced speed, a huge bird with curving beak, which Johnsaid was a condor, dashed from the crags after the airplane. It wasfollowed a moment later by five or six others. The great birds seemedto resent the appearance of so strange a giant in the mountainfastnesses where they had always held the supremacy of the air, all thetime darting angrily at it, flapping their long, black and white wings,some of which had the immense span of fourteen feet, and croakinghoarsely.
The boys laughed at first, but when the creatures commenced to comecloser, frequently hitting the windows with their sharp beaks, andcracking two of them, they began to get really alarmed. Once thepropeller struck the tail of one bold and incautious condor, andfeathers flew in all directions; but after a quick circle he was backagain, madder than ever.
"Say, fellows," cried Paul; "we've got to do something with these birdsright away! First thing we know, one of them will get hit a squarerblow with the propeller and smash it. Then we'll crash as sure as I'msitting here."
This peril was very imminent, as all could see.
John seized the shot-gun from its rack, and Tom one of the rifles.These were loaded. Stationing themselves on either side of the cabin,the young men drew down the windows in front of them, poked out theirweapons and watched for a chance to use them.
Tom's gun was the first to blaze away, but it is difficult to hit abird on the wing with a rifle, and he missed. A moment later, as acondor dashed viciously toward his window, John fired, and the greatbird, mortally stricken, tumbled into the mists below.
Tom was more fort
unate the next time. A condor, with a fluttering ofhis immense wings, had settled right on the tail of the machine, wherehe clung with his sturdy talons, threatening to prevent Paul frommanipulating the rudder. When Bob called Tom's attention to thisalarming situation, the latter joined him at the rear window of thecabin. Tom took careful aim, pulled the trigger, and the condor fellwith a broken wing, uttering hoarse cries until the clouds belowswallowed him up.
Two more of the fierce creatures were killed before the remaining birdswere frightened off. It was with a sigh of relief that Paul nowresumed his descent to lower levels.
When presently they emerged out of the last cloud, and could see thegreen earth below them once more, they were across the last chain ofmountain they would encounter in South America. They gazed with theirglasses on all sides, and checked up their position on the chart,although in doing this they had great difficulty on account of acurtain of thin fog which hung over the land, and only a very lowaltitude of about five hundred feet would allow of it at all.
As soon as they were sure of their bearings they again took a searchingobservation in quest of the rival airplane, but no sign of it couldthey see.
"They're probably quite a bit ahead of us by this time," observed John;"but now that we're through the last chain of the Andes we can makebetter speed. Shoot her up to two thousand feet, Buddy. We'll set ourcourse for Georgetown by compass."
Paul bore upward, and at the level mentioned he straightened themachine with her nose once more pointed eastward, and the compass handpointing along the left wing of the machine.
It was now growing dark. Not knowing whether this was caused by theclosing in of the clouds or the natural declension of the sun, Boblooked at his watch. To his surprise he found it was seven o'clockPanama time, which would make it probably close to nine in theirpresent locality. Night should now be upon them.
As it had been decided to let John and Tom operate the night shift, atleast for the first few days, John now took his trick at the throttle,changed to the fresh engine, and Bob and Paul turned into theirhammocks for the first sleep aboard the airplane. They were bothpretty tired, as each had spent several hours at the helm thatafternoon, and it was only a few minutes before the gentle rocking ofthe plane on the billows of air had sent them into a sound oblivion.Just before retiring, Bob had wirelessed Panama of their safe passagethrough the mountains and fight with the condors, stating that severalsnapshots of the birds had been secured and that these would be mailedto the _Daily Independent_ upon reaching Georgetown.
Not long after the change of pilots a fine rain began to fall, coveringthe windows of the cabin with a film of moisture; but as it was now toodark to see anyhow, John did not care whether he could look outside ornot. However, for the good of the machine, as well as the bettermentof their speed, he decided to get out of the storm. So, switching onthe little dashboard electric lights to illuminate his instruments, heturned the Sky-Bird upward again. Through the very clouds which wereexpelling the rain, gathered from the warm Atlantic trade-winds, heguided the machine. At nine thousand feet he was above them, in cleardry air, with a blue, star-studded sky above his head and in the mellowglow of a full moon.
"Well, John, this is more like night-flying," remarked Tom Meeks, whosat just behind the pilot, ready to assist him at a moment's notice ifthe need should appear.
"As long as I know there are no mountains ahead to smash into I'm notworrying a bit," replied John, "and I guess we're all right on thatscore. I'm going to let the old girl out now, Tom."
"Might as well," was the response.
Thereupon John threw on the gas by degrees until the indicator showedthem to be whizzing along at 150 miles. He easily could have gonefifty more on the one engine had he chosen, but was afraid such a speedwould carry them beyond their destination and out into the Atlanticbefore daylight could show them their position. Had they notpreviously been running somewhat behind scheduled time, he would nothave accelerated even now.
Shortly after midnight Tom relieved him at the throttle, and runningslightly slower, to make sure they would not pass over Georgetown inthe darkness, Tom began to hum softly to himself as he kept a sharplookout upon his instruments. John settled back in the seat behind, asalert for any sudden peril as his mate had been before.
But no mishap marred the night's run, which was as smooth up thereabove the clouds as any veteran flyer could have wished. And when atlast the bright sun of another day chased the moon and its haze intoobscurity, it lighted up the flying craft some time before its orb hadpeeped high enough over the Atlantic's horizon to shed its rays uponthe affairs of earth itself.
Gradually, as the sun arose in the heavens, Tom brought the Sky-Birdlower, until presently he and John could see the ground, bathed inglistening color from its recent wetting, far below them.
At this time Paul and Bob awoke, and washing their hands and faces,came to the windows to look out. The first thing they all did was tosweep the sky-line for some vision of the rival airplane, but withoutsuccess. Then they put their attention on the country below and around.
Just beneath was a pretty little blue lake, walled in with great foresttrees some of which must have been over a hundred feet high. A shortway beyond was an immense field covered with what they were sure mustbe sugar-cane, and in which they could see dark-skinned men at workwith queer carts and clumsy oxen. At the right, a mere thread ofsilver, was a river, hedged with tropical vegetation. This sweptaround toward their front, enlarging as it came, and at what seemed nofarther than five miles away, poured its waters out into a great sea ofapparently limitless expanse.
The boys concluded at once that this great body of water must be theAtlantic Ocean, and when they saw a fair-sized town nestling among thetrees at the point where the river joined the sea, their chart toldthem that the stream was the Essequibo River, and the collection oflow-roofed buildings was none less than Georgetown!
A few minutes later, they were circling the town to locate theirlanding-field which was to be marked with a large white letter T.Seeing it on the second turn, they swept down amongst a curious andhalf-frightened throng, and taxied to a stop.
To their relief and gratification, they found that their rivals had notyet appeared.
Around the World in Ten Days Page 16