CHAPTER VII
THE NEST OF THE GREAT BIRD
As the little group of four penetrated into the enclosure which but afew moments before had been guarded all round its perimeter by a smallarmy of determined men, more and more of the Legionaries began toconcentrate toward the entrance.
Silently they came, with almost the precision of automata in somecomplex mechanical process. All were obeying the Master's will,because obedience was sweet to them; because it spelled adventure,freedom, life.
Now and then one stopped, bent, arose with some added burden takenfrom a fallen guard. Not one guard was to be injured in any manner.Human life was not to be taken. But nothing in the way of armament wasto be left, by way of possible danger to the Legion. And already thetelephone-wires had been effectively cut.
All the approaching Legionaries wore rucksacks, and all were in theirrespective uniforms, though every man still wore a long coat thatconcealed it. A few groups of two appeared, bearing rather heavyburdens.
The Master smiled again, and nodded, as he paused a moment at thegate to peer down, along the line of the clearing between stockade andforest.
"Here come some of the machine-guns," said he. "I shall be vastlysurprised if one man or one single bit of equipment fails to appear onschedule time. Nothing like system, Bohannan--that, and knowing how tochoose your men!"
He turned, and the other three followed him into the enclosure.Outside, all was developing according to plans and specifications.They four were to be pioneers into the jealously guarded spacethat for so long had been the mystery of the continent, yes, of thecivilized world.
The whole enclosure was well lighted with a profusion of electriclamps. At first view, quite a bewildering mass of small buildingsappeared; but second glance showed order in them all. Streets had beenlaid out, as in a town; and along these streets stood drafting-sheds,workshops, storehouses, commissary offices, dwellings for the workers,guards, and bosses. A well-built cottage on the main, forward-goingroad that led from the gate to an inner stockade, was probablyheadquarters for the chief engineers.
Not one sign of conscious life appeared. Men were lying here, there,in the roadways, in the porches, in the shadow of the power-plantwhere dynamos were still merrily singing. Few were armed. Most of themhere were workers, judging by their garb and by the tools still insome hands.
The four pioneers gave them no heed, but pushed steadily on. In theroad lay a couple of pigeons, farther on a sparrow, and still farthera sleeping dog, showed how complete had been the effect of the lethalpellets.
The inner stockade was now close. It stood about twice as high as theouter, was also topped with live wires and lights, and was loopholedfor defense. This formidable barrier was pierced by a small gate,flanked by two machine-guns. On the gate-post was affixed an elaborateset of rules regarding those who might and might not enter. The Mastersmiled dryly, and opened the gate.
Even from without, the loom of the monstrous airship had been visible.The eye could hardly at first glance take in the vastness of thisstupendous thing, that overshadowed all the central portion of thehuge enclosure. It gave a sense of power, of swift potentialities, ofspeed unlimited. It stood there, tense, ready, waiting, with a humof engines audible in its vast heart, a thing almost of life, man'screation but how illimitably greater than man!
For a moment, as this tremendous winged fabric came to the Master'sview, he halted, and a look of exultation, pride, and joy came overhis face. But only for a moment. Quite at once his dark eyes veiledthemselves with their habitual impassivity. Once more he strodeforward, the others following him.
Now that they were inside the second barrier--where sleeping men werescattered more thickly than ever--they stood under the very wings ofthe most stupendous hydroplane ever conceived by the brain of man orexecuted by the cunning of his hand.
That this hydroplane had been almost on the moment of departure forits trial trip, was proved by the sleepers. Two were on the gangplankleading up to the entrance door in the fuselage. A number who had beenknocking out the last holding-pins of the last shackles that bound itto its cradle, had fallen to earth, their sledge-hammers near at hand.
In the pilot-house, a figure had collapsed across the sill of anobservation window. And the engines, purring softly, told that all hadbeen in readiness for the throwing-in of the clutches that would haveset the vast propellers spinning with roaring speed.
"Yes, they were certainly just on the dot of getting away," said theMaster, nodding as he glanced at his watch. "This couldn't be better.Gas, oil, stores, everything ready. What more proof do you require, mydear Bohannan, of the value of exact coordination?"
The major could only answer: "Yes, yes--" He seemed quite amazed bythis extraordinary mechanism--gigantic, weird, unreal in the garishelectric lights. Rrisa was frankly staring, for once shaken out of hisfatalistic Mussulman tranquillity.
As for Captain Alden, he stood there a compact, small figure in hislong coat with the rucksack strapped to his shoulders, peering up withthe eye of the connoisseur. His smile was of contentment absolute.
"My beauty--ah, my beauty!" he was murmuring.
Then, in the presence of this mighty thing, silence fell on all. Themajor set hands on hips, blinked, puckered his lips, and silentlywhistled. His expression was half incredulous, half enthusiastic.
What Alden was thinking revealed itself by the sparkle of his eyesthrough the holes of the mask behind the goggles. Expressionlessthough that terribly mutilated face had to remain, you could sense inthe man's whole attitude the exultation of the expert ace as he beheldthe perfect machine.
The droning of the engines came distinctly to them all, a low, steady,powerful note, beautiful in its steady undertones of strength. Behindthe little group, a few involuntary exclamations of astonishment andjoy became audible, as some of the Legionaries came into the secondenclosure.
Without, blows on metal sharply resounded. The Master smiled again, ashe realized his orders were going on with exact precision.
"That's the wireless they're putting out of commission," thought he,glancing at his watch again. "No mere untuning of wave-lengths.Good, old-fashioned hammer-blows! This station won't work again for awhile!"
Bohannan, meantime, was trying to get some general impression of thegiant plane. Not all the Master's descriptions of it, to him, hadquite prepared him for the reality. Though he well knew all thelargest, biggest machines in the world, this stupendous creationstaggered him. By comparison with the Handley-Page, the Caproni, theD.H.-4, the Gotha 90-120, the Sikorsky, it spread itself as an eaglespreads beside a pigeon.
It lay in a kind of metallic cradle, almost like a ship ready forlaunching on its ways. Ahead of it, metal plates stretched away likerails, running toward the lip of the Palisades. Its quadruple floats,each the size of a tugboat and each capable of being exhausted of air,constituted a potential lifting-force of enclosed vacuums thatvery largely offset the weight of the mechanism. It was still aheavier-than-air machine, but the balance could be made nearlyperfect. And the six helicopters, whose cylindrical, turbine-likedrums gleamed with metallic glitters--three on each side along thefuselage--could at will produce an absolutely static condition of liftor even make the plane hover and soar quite vertically.
There the monster lay, outstretching its enormous sextuple wings, eachwing with an area of 376 by 82.5 feet. The non-inflammable celluloidsurfaces shone white as fresh-cut ivory, clean, smooth, unbreakable.The plane reminded one of some Brobdingnagian dragon-fly, resting forflight, shimmering with power as it poised for one swift leap aloftinto the night.
Bohannan, still a bit confused, noted the absence of any exhaust fromthe speeding engines. This, too, gave a sense of vast, self-containedpower. He saw stupendous propeller-blades, their varnished surfacesflicking out high-lights as the incandescents struck them. Motionlessthese propellers were; but something in their tense, clean sweeptold of the raging cyclone to which they could whip the air, once thespinning engines should be clutc
hed in on their shafts.
The captain's eyes wandered over the whole enormous construction,towering there above him. He saw rows of lighted windows, each casedin shining metal; a V-pointed pilot-house--the same where the stillfigure had dropped over the sill of the open window--a high-raisedrudder of artful curve, vast as the broadside of a barn; railedgalleries running along the underbody of the fuselage, between thefloats and far aft of them.
Everything gleamed and flickered with bright metal, varnish, snowycelluloid. The body of the machine looked capable of housing twice asmany men as the Legion numbered. But everything, after all, was quiteshrunk by the overpowering sweep of the wings. These dwarfed thefast-gathering group that stood peering up at them, like pygmies underthe pinions of the fabled roc in Sinbad the Sailor's story.
These stupendous wings, the captain now saw, were not braced togetherby hampering struts and wires, but seemed cantilevered into position,giving a clean run to the structure, great simplicity, and the acme ofmechanical beauty. This giant bird of heaven lay in its nest, free ofpattern, powerful beyond any air-mechanism ever built by man, almosta living thing, on whose back its captors might ride aloft defying manand nature, to whatsoever goal they chose.
"Everything is ready," said the Master. "That is quite obvious. Let usget aboard now, with no further delay, and be off!"
He drew a little notebook from his pocket, took a pencil, and facedthe gathering group inside the second stockade.
"Stow your equipment," he directed "according to your orders. Tenminutes will be enough for you to unload your machine-guns and allgear, each in the assigned space. Bring out all the sleeping men andlay them down along the stockade, here. Injure no man. Valdez, are thetake-off gates, over the Palisade, correctly opened?"
A dark, thin man saluted, as he answered with a Spanish accent:
"Yes, sir. Everything is ready, sir."
"Very well. Now, all to work! And then, each to his place, inengine-room, cabins, or however and where assigned. Come, come!"
As the men trailed up the gangplank, that steeply rose to the slidingdoor in the fuselage, the Master checked them on his list. Not one wasabsent. He shut the notebook with a snap, and slid it back into hispocket.
"This goes on well," he commented to the major. "So far, we are withinthree minutes, eighteen seconds, of schedule."
The little group of four stood waiting, watching, while the otherscarried out all orders, aboard. There was no hesitation, no confusion.Each had already learned the exact plan of the airship. Each knewprecisely where every door led, what each passageway meant; eachunderstood perfectly his own post and what to do there.
Two by two, Legionaries came down the gangplank, bearing limp bodies.These they laid in a row along the stockade, till seventeen hadaccumulated. No more came.
A figure appeared in the sliding doorway, and saluted.
"The last sleeper is out, sir," he reported.
The Master nodded, and gestured to his three companions. The group offour ascended the sharp tilt of the plank and entered the airship. Asthey did so, Legionaries hoisted the plank aboard, with its tackle,and lashed it to the waiting chocks. Others could be heard, in thepenetralia of the vast structure, coming, going, busily at work.
The entrance door slid shut. A bolt shot home. All the Legion was nowaboard, and communication with the ground had been broken.
The four men found themselves in a brightly lighted corridor that leddirectly across the fuselage to a similar door on the other side. Thiscorridor was of some metal, painted a glossy white. Doors opened outof it, on either hand. Its length was just a few inches overforty-two feet. Half-way along it, a wider corridor crossed it at rightangles--the main passage of the ship.
The Master led the way toward this median corridor. His tall,big-shouldered figure swung along, triumphant, impressive in the longcoat, dominant and free. Followed by the other three, he turned to theleft, forward of the ship.
The main corridor, like the other, was flanked by doors. Two or threestood open, giving glimpses of comfortable staterooms. The men'sfootfalls sounded with softened tread on a strip of thick, browncarpet that made pleasant contrast with the gleaming white walls.Light from frosted glass circles, flush with walls and ceiling, madethe corridor bright as day.
The Master walked with the confident precision of one who alreadyhad passed that way a score of times. He opened the third door on theleft--it slid into the wall, instead of swinging, thus economizingspace--and all entered what was obviously the main saloon of the giantplane.
This saloon measured seventeen feet six inches, from corridor towindows, and twenty-nine fore-and-aft. It was furnished with acenter-table, book-cases, easy-chairs, two commodious sofa-lockers,and had an excellent carpet. Bohannan noted a Victrola, with manyrecords.
Like all parts of the ship, its lighting was splendid. Well-curtainedwindows gave it a homelike air. At first glance, one would havethought oneself in a rather luxurious private house; but secondinspection showed all possible construction and furnishings wereof aluminum alloy, of patterns designed to cut weight to the lowestminimum.
The walls bore lightly framed photographs of men famous in theannals of flying, from Santos-Dumont and the Wrights to Gruynemerand Nosworthy; also pictures of famous machines--the Spad, BristolFighter, Sopwith Pup, 120-135, and others. More conspicuous thanany of these was a framed copy of the International Air Commission'slatest condensed rules.
Signs of recent occupancy were not wanting. An extinct cigar lay onthe carpet, where it had fallen from the mouth of some airman swiftlyovertaken by sleep. The table bore an open cigar-box, several packsof cigarettes with loose "fags" scattered round, and a number ofchampagne bottles.
Two of these were opened; one had been emptied. The other had lostpart of its contents. Several champagne glasses stood on the table,and one lay on its side, where perhaps a falling hand had overset it.In one of the glasses, a few last, vagrant little bubbles were stillrising from the tall, hollow stem.
"Hm!" grunted the Master contemptuously. "Fools! Well--there'll be noalcohol aboard this craft!" He loosened the buckles of his rucksack,and cast the burden on one of the sofa-lockers. The others did asmuch.
"Shall we stow the gear in our cabins?" asked Bohannan, gesturing atthe doors that led off the saloon.
"Not yet," answered the Master, glancing at the chronometer that hungbeside the air-rules. "Time enough to get settled, later. Every secondcounts, now. We're due to start in seven minutes, you know. Rrisa willattend to all this. We three have got to be getting forward to thepilot-house."
Bohannan nodded.
"Let's have some air in here, anyhow," said he, turning toward one ofthe windows. "This place is damned hot!"
"We'll need all the heat, soon," the Master commented. "At a fewthousand feet, the engine-exhaust through those radiators won't be anytoo much. Forward!"
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