CHAPTER XVII THE AEROPLANE AS A WAR MACHINE

The government had selected an old colonial home, sequestered in a bit of forest a few miles south of Arlington, as a base for its practical aeroplane experiments. It had selected this place for two important reasons. The house, now almost in ruins, was on a ridge just beyond the tidal flats or salt marshes west of New York, and it fronted on what had been a plaza. This made an admirable starting ground and from it there was an uninterrupted but distant view of the sea. From this leafy retreat, well off the main road and only approached over a now weed-grown lane, closely guarded, the airships could emerge in the early dawn or at twilight, sail over the untenanted marshes and return, practically without being observed.

The house, which had an old-fashioned, glassless octagonal observatory on top, was further screened from discovery by a new fence. On the building itself there had been but few repairs made. Major Squiers and Lieutenant Purcell, when they were there, occupied adjoining rooms on the first floor. No attempt had been made to furnish these. The officers practically “camped out” in the big, bare rooms. On the second floor were a dozen or more soldiers, including three sergeants and a corporal. The two men who assisted Mr. Wright at Fort Meyer were also here. In the yard in the rear was a cook tent. The men ate in another tent beneath the trees.

Beyond the tents, and approached by a path running through denser trees and a wilderness of weedy vegetation, was the plaza, or outlook, on which the long since dead owner had been accustomed to sniff the ocean breezes and from which, far across the marshy meadows the ocean might be seen.

Into this interesting place Morey was conducted by Corporal Steele early in the day. Major Squiers was there and in charge. Lieutenant Purcell was expected in three or four days. The boy was turned over at once to Sergeant McLean, who took him to the commander’s apartment.

“Since you are now all here,” said Major Squiers, turning to the sergeant, after a few moment’s talk with Morey, “you may as well draw lots for the order in which you are to be called. We may make a flight at any time. Some officials from Washington will arrive tomorrow or the day after. When they do, we must be ready to begin work at once.”

These flights were for the purpose of navigating, if possible, an aeroplane from the Arlington ridge, across the marshes, over Staten Island and then dropping explosives on a target in the Lower Bay, south of Staten Island. This target was a condemned man-of-war, which for several weeks had been mysteriously anchored off the shore. In order not to attract undue attention the vessel was manned. But officers and men were prepared to abandon the hulk at any time on signal.

The aeroplane shed was a canvas house on the garden plaza. By its side was a shop. The aeroplane tested at Fort Meyer was installed here with a second one on the ground in crates. This one had just arrived. The plans of the War Department were twofold. Not only were various explosives to be tested by being dropped from a swiftly flying car, but some of the actual conditions of war were to be present. It was especially desired to make the experiment cover some ground. The distance from the Arlington ridge to the Lower Bay was nearly twenty miles. It was believed that if this distance could be covered by a machine without descending and a safe return accomplished, that some of the exigencies of actual warfare would have been met.

Morey was sent to the upper floor to install himself. While he was picking out a cot he was recalled to the commander’s apartment. A drawing of lots was to take place to decide the order in which the four available operators would be called on to serve.

“First,” explained Major Squiers, “although you are all soldiers, not one of whom would shirk his duty, the department wants to make this fact plain. This work is so new and so hazardous that it is to be the policy of the Secretary of War to call for volunteers in aeroplaning. In actual warfare it is not impossible that weapons of defense will be at once devised that will make the work of an aeroplane almost a deliberate sacrifice of life. If any one of you wishes to wait until the science we are developing is more advanced and aviation of this sort is attended with less danger, do not be ashamed to say so. It will not be charged against you.”

Four men smiled.

“As I anticipated,” said Major Squiers, smiling in turn. “All of you are eager Hobsons.”

As a result of the drawing the order was:

1st. Corporal D. M. Steele, 26 years old, Omaha, Nebraska (the dirigible experimental station).

2nd. Private Mortimer Marshall, 18 years old, Green Springs’ testing grounds.

3rd. Sergeant S. A. McLean, 37 years old, Fort Meyer.

4th. P. S. Bloom, 29 years old, Fort Meyer.

As the men filed out of the room Major Squiers detained Morey a moment.

“I’m rather glad, my son, you were not first.”

“But, I’m second,” proudly replied the boy. “I’ll show you that Lieutenant Purcell is a good teacher.”

“By the way,” added his superior, “don’t believe that your father’s project has been buried. It has reached the engineering department. Unofficially I hear that it has made a sensation. That is, it has started a hot dispute. That looks good, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t look as good to me as this,” said Morey, holding up his little square of cardboard numbered ‘2.’ “I hope it is of use and is worth something, but I wouldn’t trade my chance here for all the money it may bring.”

“How is that?” inquired Major Squiers, puzzled.

“Because I want to do something myself.”

“When your chance comes I’m sure you will,” said the elder man very kindly, and he patted the boy on the head.

Before the first flight was made Lieutenant Purcell arrived—three days later—and the next day a sudden message came that the official board was on the proving ground on the south shore of Staten Island. There was hurry and anxiety but no commotion in the distant New Jersey station. At six in the afternoon Corporal Steele, bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, made a short experimental flight. Major Squiers had left the camp at four o’clock to board a waiting tug at Jersey City. At twenty minutes past six, after a safe return to the plaza, where he took on two cordite bombs weighing thirty pounds each, the eager aviator was off like a bird over the Jersey flats. At half past six he had disappeared in the smoke wafting southward from Jersey City.

Just after seven o’clock Lieutenant Purcell received this message by telephone:

“Steele’s flight was admirable but he failed in his drop. Both bombs delivered at once and too soon. They struck the water and disappeared without exploding. If he returns successfully and there is time before dark, make a second trial. Attempt nothing after dark. Take no chances with shipping in the bay.”

Corporal Steele was on the starting plateau at a quarter past seven. The operator was chagrined, but not discouraged. His control of the machine had been perfect. He at once insisted that there should be an automatic device for releasing the explosive independently of the operator’s hands. But, in the midst of his explanation, Lieutenant Purcell turned to Morey. There was at least three quarters of an hour of twilight remaining. The aeroplane was turned, two new bombs were hastily brought and Morey got into the seat.

His great chance had come at last. Calmly and distinctly he gave the word and the car was hurled into the still evening air. Taking advantage of his start Morey held his forward or horizontal rudder skyward and allowed the obedient aeroplane to mount upward as it flew through the almost breezeless air. Up and up he soared until the grey marsh beneath was only a haze. A thousand feet above the tidewater swamp the young aviator brought himself to a horizontal course. Before and beyond him he could make out the horizon-bounded sea. In a few moments the outlines of Staten Island became clear in the dusk and then the unmistakable grey target rose out of the water beyond.

The two bombs had been suspended in little net hammocks on each side of the aviator. On each was a wire handle. Morey reached into his pocket and took out his new knife. Opening the largest blade he placed the knife between his teeth. Then carefully, while some distance from the target vessel, he drew the other bomb from its hammock and placed it in his lap. He was ready.

A thousand yards from the anchored marsh he settled himself and judged his distance. He was counting on some breeze at sea. He could feel it gently wafting landward from the northeast. His experience at Green Springs had taught him every movement of the machine. As he drew nearer to the vessel he bore off into the breeze as if to pass to one side of the target. He seemed about to sail by it on the north when with a quick shift of his vertical rudders he turned. The aeroplane trembled, seemed to catch itself for a moment and then, with a long, graceful curve it headed for the vessel and darted downward like a bird.

There was another rapid movement of the horizontal rudders and the darting fall was checked. The airship wavered as if to gather itself for a new flight. The swiftly beating propellers sent the air against the planes and the machine began to rise once more. There was an instant’s pause. The boy’s hand shot forward to cut away the hanging bomb with the keen blade. At the same instant Morey’s knees opened and the deadly package in his lap slid between his legs. Almost at the same moment the two bombs crashed upon the steel deck and the aeroplane had darted on.

There was a roar, a flash of fire far beneath, and Morey knew that he had made the first successful experiment with the aeroplane as a war machine; he had won “in the clouds for Uncle Sam.”