Dave Dashaway and His Giant Airship: or, A Marvellous Trip Across the Atlantic

“Nothing!” fairly bellowed the watchman. “I saw it plain as the nose on my face. See here, I had the door ajar about a foot to let in a little of the cool evening air. Here I sat in my chair right near it. I must have half snoozed and woke up suddenly. Not five feet away, right near that oil tank yonder, was a horrible shape. It was all white and unearthly. As I started up it let out an unearthly scream and waved its arms. Say, it was curdling! I bolted for the door, locked it, and scooted.”

“Yes, you scooted all right,” grumbled Hiram, rubbing a bump on his head.

Mr. King, with a glance of impatience at the great booby of a watchman, proceeded briskly the length of the building, peering into every odd nook and corner. When he came back he held in his hand a long cotton sheet that had been used to cover some of the machinery.

“That is what you saw,” he declared. “Somebody has been playing a trick on you.”

“Why, how could that be,” chattered the watchman, “seeing nobody was in the building but me?”

“How do you know that?” demanded the aviator; “when you say you had the door open? I tell you some one slipped in, wrapped in the sheet, and half scared the life out of you.”

“Then he must be here now,” insisted the watchman, “for when I bolted I locked the door after me.”

“It all looks rather queer,” remarked Mr. Dale.

“Hi!” suddenly shouted the watchman.

“What’s the matter now?” asked Mr. King.

“My dinner pail – that I bring my night lunch in.”

“What about it?”

“Gone! It was right here near my chair. It’s been taken.”

Dave had followed the progress of the incident of the hour with curiosity, ending in positive interest.

“Come on, Hiram,” he said.

“What for?” inquired his comrade.

“To do some investigating. Don’t you see that if the watchman’s story is straight some one really was here?”

“And if the door was locked when the watchman ran away he couldn’t very well get out.”

“Exactly.”

The two lads made more than one tour of the length and breadth of the place. Their quest proved a vain one. There was no one hiding about the aerodrome, as far as they could discover.

“We’ll have to give it up,” said Hiram at last, “although it’s something of a mystery.”

It was, indeed, but a mystery soon to be explained in a startling way to the young aviators.

CHAPTER XI

A GRAND SUCCESS

“All ready!”

Robert King, seated in the pilot room of the Albatross, spoke the words through a tube at his side connecting with the cabin.

Dave Dashaway stood beside him, and behind the young aviator was Hiram Dobbs. It was the most impressive moment in all the boys’ lives. Well might it be, for the next movement of the expert airman meant the start of the giant airship on a cruise but once before attempted by mortal man.

Before the skilled sky rider was a great sheet of glass punctured with knobs of metal. Each bore a number. From practice, these indices to guiding detail were as familiar to Mr. King as an alphabet to a schoolboy. The operator was so intent upon his work that his hand trembled, his eyes were glued to the pilot board, and his face was quite pale. Dave stood with every nerve tense and strained. Hiram fairly held his breath. There was a grind and a sway as Mr. King touched a particular button. The huge gas bag lifted its prow from the ground, then its body cleared all earth of contact, and the next instant was stretched out on an angle of forty-five degrees.

“We’re started!” breathed Dave.

“It’s grand!” pronounced Hiram, in a gasp.

Both edged towards the open window. A dizzying panorama greeted their sight.

The old factory was a wreck. One entire sidewall and parts of the front and rear walls had been torn out of place that morning, to allow for the exit to level ground of the Albatross. Outside of the enclosure over a thousand persons were gathered. A band was playing, the crowd was cheering, and from a neighboring roof a group of reporters and a dozen airmen, friends of Mr. King, joined in the tumult, waving hats, flags and handkerchiefs.

The Albatross behaved splendidly. There was not a jar as it ended a mile ascent in exactly five minutes. Then, as the vast machine balanced to its natural position, it began a straight, even glide so graceful and buoyant that it imparted a positive thrill to the passengers.

“Say, it’s glorious!” burst out the irrepressible Hiram, “I feel as if I had been taking laughing gas!”

Dave resumed his position near his friend and patron, Mr. King. For the present he was to take no active part in running the Albatross. He had, however, sat up half the night listening to the arrangements mapped out by Professor Leblance. He realized, too, that as soon as he learned all that the aviator had acquired he was to relieve him. There was not a movement made by the skilled hand of the airman that Dave did not memorize. He had accompanied the professor in a tour all over the craft two hours before starting, and had been amazed at the simplicity of the construction as a whole. He was lost in admiration as he realized what a perfect mechanism controlled the giant airship.

The Frenchman had four skilled airship men under his orders. They had been trained to their duties in Germany and France. Each knew what was required of him, and each understood that, while they appeared to act as automatons, a single miss in the programme might end their career in mid-air, or in the ocean depths.

Outside of these men, who performed engineering duties solely, a young and enthusiastic Pole named Vacla assisted the professor in the actual control of the craft. In the pilot room Mr. King directed the course of the Albatross by electric signals, or word of mouth through the speaking tube.

Passages ran past the cased-in balloonets to every part of the airship. In the direct center of the craft and above the airplanes and float attachments was the roomy cabin. Two persons, both foreigners, the cook and the cabin attendant, had this department in charge. The cabin had rows of windows on both sides, and was furnished comfortably and even elegantly. Seated at one of the windows, a passenger had a perfect view as far as the eye could reach.

Hiram found his way to the cabin, to come upon Mr. Dale and Grimshaw viewing the fast-receding earth. The good hearted old gentleman, who had financed the proposition almost solely on Dave’s account, was chuckling, with his fat comfortable face crossed with a great smile of delight. Grimshaw seemed more contented and spirited than Hiram had ever seen him before.

“We’ve made a famous start,” burst out Hiram, waving his hand in glee.

“That’s pleasant,” beamed Mr. Dale.

“And Mr. King says we’re going to keep it up.”

“That’s natural,” joined in Grimshaw.

“Everything has been provided for, and we’re going ahead slick as grease.”

“That’s evident,” chuckled Mr. Dale.

“And we’re going to cross the Atlantic first!” boasted the excited young airman.

“That’s all!” roared Grimshaw – “all worth working for and waiting for. I’ve dreamed it for ten years. Now – hooray!”

In about half an hour Professor Leblance, Mr. King and Dave came into the cabin. The Frenchman’s eyes were shining with half-suppressed excitement and satisfaction. Mr. Dale rushed at him and grasped his hand fervently.

“My friend,” he said, “you’ve proven a genius, a wonder! Hold out as you have begun, and I double the fee originally agreed upon.”

“Ah, sir,” replied the gifted engineer, “let me but see the land on the other side – then, undying fame! I ask no more.”

“See here,” broke in the ever-active and restless Hiram, “is this all we’ve got to do – sit here and let her drift?”

“About that, for the present,” returned Mr. King.

“Remember, we are still over land,” reminded the professor. “It is calm and fair. It is a pleasant beginning. When we get over the ocean – ”

The Frenchman here shrugged his shoulders expressively, as if he thought it no child’s play ahead.

“Then,” added Mr. King, “every man must do his duty as on a ship in stress of weather.”

“The orders are for four hours drifting,” explained Professor Leblance. “About nightfall we will have reached what we call the approximate air current. The right air course is just as established as the ocean roads, and we aim to follow it in our voyage.”

“And now, my friends,” came from Mr. Dale. “I have something more to say about this wonderful airship.”

All eyes were at once turned on the rich gentleman who had made it possible to construct the Albatross.

“Years ago Dave Dashaway’s father and I were chums. He did me many a good turn. That is why I have taken such an interest in my young friend here. Now that this giant airship is an accomplished fact, I wish to make it known to all of you that I have had it built on his account – ”

“Oh, Mr. Dale!” interrupted our hero.

“It is true, my boy, and from this moment on I wish the Albatross to be known as Dave Dashaway’s airship,” went on the rich gentleman.

“Hooray!” cried Hiram and Grimshaw, in unison.

“My airship?” cried Dave.

“Yes, my boy, your airship,” answered Mr. Dale. “And may she win her way across the Atlantic without a mishap.”

“Amen to that,” put in Mr. King. “Dave, my warmest congratulations,” and he held out his hand.

Dave was so overcome he could scarcely speak. But at last he thanked Mr. Dale heartily for his great kindness. The thought that the giant airship had been turned over to him filled his heart with new enthusiasm.

“I’ll do my best to make a success of the trip,” he said, in a voice filled with emotion.

“I know you will – I bank on you, my boy,” answered Mr. Dale.

They circled out toward the water for a few miles, to ascertain the strength of some of the ocean currents of air, and as they were turning inward again Dave cried out:

“Look, there’s a seagull trying to race with us, I do believe!” He pointed upward and there, in the air above them and off to one side, was one of the graceful birds.

“That’s what it is!” exclaimed Mr. Dale. “And that reminds me of something I must do to oblige a friend. But first let us watch that seagull.”

All eyes were now turned toward it. The swift bird seemed to realize that one of its own kind, or, more properly, a rival, was disputing the element so long unconquerable by man. The seagull would approach the giant airship as if to ascertain what it wanted in the upper regions, to learn its speed and power. Then, as if alarmed at the noise of the propeller, or perhaps some of the odors of the escaping gas, the bird would veer off, only to return.

“Look!” cried Dave again. “It’s going to see how much faster it can go than we do. It’s trying to double on us, I declare!”

And that is exactly what the seagull did. Darting ahead it swung around a good distance in front of the airship, and then, as if to prove how puny was man, compared to nature, the bird darted straight back toward the craft.

“He’s going to ram us – he’ll be killed, sure!” yelled Mr. King.

“No, he’s going to one side,” declared Mr. Dale.

And that is what the bird did! Like an arrow it shot along the side of the Albatross, almost brushing the gas bags with its wing tips. To the rear swung the big bird. Its purpose was now plain. It was going to circle the airship.

“Two can play at that game!” cried Dave. “Let’s put on all speed! Can we beat the seagull?”

“We certainly can,” said Mr. King, in a quiet voice. He walked over to some of the signal buttons and pushed them. The effect was at once apparent. There was an increased tremor through the whole craft. It darted ahead and cleaved the air as it had never done before. Once more Mr. King pressed a small lever. Again the trembling of the craft increased as if she would shake apart. But she was staunchly built.

“Can you see the gull?” demanded Mr. Dale.

“Yes, here he comes!” cried Dave. “He’s been to the stern, rounded it, and here he comes up alongside like the wind. He’s trying to pass us!”

“But he never will,” spoke Mr. King. “Here goes for the final test. Perhaps it’s foolish to use our greatest speed on a new motor before it’s been warmed up and run longer than this has, but we might as well know first as last just what the Albatross will do. Now for the test!”

He pressed a button that communicated with the motor room, and there came such a vibration to the craft that one and all, who were not aware of the reserve power, looked at one another in some alarm.

“How about it, Dave?” inquired Mr. King. “Are we holding our own?”

“Yes! Yes!” eagerly answered the young aviator. “The gull is straining every wing feather, but he’s falling back. Look, no he’s even with us now! He’s going ahead – see – see!”

Was the Albatross, after all, to be beaten?

The gull was now flying alongside in such a position as to be visible to all. Clearly the bird was exerting every last ounce of strength. Its wings were wildly beating the air, and its slender head and hooked bill were stretched out like the prow of some slave-galley – cutting the air.

“It’s falling back – it’s falling back – we win!” cried Dave exultantly.

It was so. The gull, unable to keep up the terrific speed, was losing ground. The airship kept on, its awful power forcing it forward. Foot by foot the bird fell back until like some express train passing a slow freight, the Albatross shot ahead of the weary bird, and the creature, as if humiliated by the test, folded its wings and dropped downward like a shot, in order to rest. Then spreading wide its pinions again, it floated in the air, far below the rival craft.

“We sure did go!” cried Dave in triumph, as some of the terrific power was cut down. “But what was it you said you wanted to do, Mr. Dale – something that the sight of the gull reminded you about?”

“Oh, yes. Well, it’s nothing more or less than to release a carrier pigeon I have on board.”

“A carrier pigeon?” cried several.

“Yes, a friend of mine, who is interested in aeronautics, and who published a magazine about them, asked me to do this for him. He gave me a carrier pigeon a few days ago, and requested me to release it on our trial trip. I said I would, and now I am going to send him a message of our success. The bird will fly directly to his coop, and later, when I give him the time we liberated it, and he notes the time of arrival, he can figure the speed.”

“Good!” cried Dave. “Where is the pigeon?”

It was brought out in the basket where it had been held captive, and Mr. Dale, who understood such matters, prepared a short message on thin paper. The paper was put in a quill, sealed at both ends, and then tied by silk thread to one of the pigeon’s wings.

The bird was taken to the deck of the craft and liberated. It soared high in the air, circled about once or twice and, then even in that void, seeming to get its bearings, it darted off to the south.

“Later we will learn how my friend received the message,” said Mr. Dale. “And now I think we had better change our course.”

The Albatross lined the coast a few miles to the interior. Until dusk Dave and the others viewed a constantly changing panorama. Then there was supper, a bountiful meal, well prepared, and immensely relished by all hands.

After that lights were set, the big headlights, front and rear, sending out far-reaching shafts of radiance that must have appeared to uninitiated landsmen as streaming meteors.

Mr. King was in the cabin when the electric call bell took him to the speaking tube. He dropped it as if some important message called him instantly to the pilot room.

His manner and face indicated to the young aviator that whatever message he had received had urged him to seriousness and haste.

“Something’s up; eh, Dave?” shot out Hiram, as the airman hurried from the cabin.

“It looks that way,” assented Dave. “I wonder what?”

CHAPTER XII

ADRIFT IN THE STORM

The two young aviators, alive to every motion of the Albatross and the movements of its operators, sat together on one of the observation benches.

“I don’t see any change in our course,” remarked Hiram, glancing from the window.

“Neither do I,” said Dave. “There’s a flash, though.”

“Yes, I saw it,” spoke Hiram, quickly. “Lightning, wasn’t it?”

“I think so. In fact, I am sure of it. Yes, it has all clouded up.”

“And a wind coming,” added Hiram. “What is it, Mr. Grimshaw?” he questioned, as there was a ring at the tube hook.

“Orders to close everything up fast and tight,” reported the veteran aeronaut.

“Then there’s a storm coming, sure enough,” said Hiram.

Even before they had all the windows closed a change of atmosphere was noticeable. A blast of wind roared around the giant airship.

“Of course, this isn’t serious,” observed Hiram.

“Oh, I think not,” rejoined the young aviator.

“If the Albatross can’t weather a little land zephyr, she’s no good over the ocean.”

“Mr. King is simply taking all precautions,” said Dave.

“Whew! did you feel that!”

There was a whirl that made the young airmen think of their past experience in striking an air pocket when aboard their monoplane.

Bang! went a pitcher of water from the table in the center of the cabin.

“We’re tipping,” exclaimed Hiram.

“Yes, upwards,” said Grimshaw.

“Trying to strike a calmer upper current, I fancy,” suggested Mr. Dale.

Hiram made his way to a window and tried to peer out. The rain was beating in rattling dashes against the thick panes.

“Say,” he reported, “if you want to see a sea of black ink, come here.”

“I call it a blaze of dazzling light,” submitted Grimshaw, as there was a vivid flash of lightning, followed by a tremendous crack of thunder.

“It’s all below us now,” reported Hiram, a few minutes later.

“We must be above the storm cloud, then,” said Grimshaw.

“There’s some wind yet, I’m thinking,” observed Mr. Dale.

There came a signal from the tube bell just then. Grimshaw being nearest, took up the tube and received the message.

“You, Dashaway,” he spoke in his quick, laconic way.

“From Mr. King?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

The young aviator left the cabin at once. All over the hull of the great airship was an electric light system. The lamps were placed at intervals along the passages, and Dave found no difficulty in threading them. He arrived at the pilot room to find Mr. King at the glass table and Professor Leblance holding his hand out through a small porthole, the inside glass shield of which was thrown back.

The airman looked serious and occupied with the various buttons on the table. The Frenchman’s face wore a somewhat anxious look.

He drew in his arm. As he did so Dave observed that his hand held a little meteorological instrument he had noticed before. It was a barometric contrivance. The professor held it up to the light and scanned its surface closely.

“It won’t do at all,” he announced. “The index is not broad enough to give exact conditions.”

“There is the aerometer, Professor,” suggested Mr. King.

“Did I not tell you I found one of its tubes shattered? Such carelessness! I would no more start across the ocean without a perfect instrument than without food.”

“Then it’s a stop?”

“Somewhere.”

“And a descent?”

“Of course.”

“When, and where?”

Professor Leblance indulged in his accustomed shrug of the shoulders.

“I dare not descend, not knowing the exact conditions below, as I stated. We are on a fair level.”

“Then why not continue till the situation clears?”

“We can only run one way.”

“Yes, with the storm, but we are not leaving the coast line to any appreciable degree.”

“That is true, but we may get too far south.”

“Oh, we can soon make that up. We will have to land near some large city, I suppose, to get what you want.”

“Not necessarily,” replied the Frenchman. “All I need is some quicksilver. I have plenty of surplus tubes.”

“Well, what is the programme?”

“Straight ahead, watching the wind gauge and the grade guide.”

“Very good.”

“I will go to the engine room.”

“Come here, Dashaway,” ordered the expert airman.

His junior assistant was prompt to gain the side of his superior.

“You understand the guide?” inquired Mr. King.

“It is on the same principle as the aeroplane apparatus?”

“Yes.”

“Then – perfectly,” assented Dave.

“Watch it closely for variations, and the wind record. If the mirror shows a deviation past the fifteen mark, notify me.”

“And the wind?”

“Over fifty miles an hour is dangerous.”

“And we will have to descend?”

“Or ascend, that’s it.”

Dave seated himself in a chair at one end of the table. The guide, a delicately adjusted instrument, recorded every variation in the progress of the airship. The wind gauge was connected by wires with a vane on top of the gas bag.

Dave turned to his duty with interest and carefulness. His monoplane experience stood him in good stead. He felt a great deal of satisfaction in realizing that he was actually sharing in operating the Albatross, and in addition to that learning something practical and of value.

Inside of five minutes he had mastered the requirements of the occasion and was working in entire harmony with the airman.

For over three hours the Albatross was kept on as perfectly straight a course as could be mapped out.

“We seem to have encountered a heavy southwest storm of great extent,” Mr. King told him.

“Have we got to pass over its entire length before we land?” asked the young aviator.

“Professor Leblance thinks that plan best,” replied Mr. King.

It must have been nearly midnight when the Frenchman came back from the engine room.

“Superb!” was his first commendatory word. “The Albatross does not seem to have strained a seam. I must congratulate you both.”

The airman smiled pleasantly at this praise and Dave bowed modestly. The professor again took the barometric readings.

“I think we have hit the tail of the wind,” he announced a few minutes later. “As soon as we are sure of it, we will make a descent.”

“What’s that?” suddenly called out the young aviator.

Boom! A great shock traversed the airship!

Boom – boom – twice in succession there followed a muffled bang, and it was apparent that the sounds were caused by some trouble in the airship.

Professor Leblance rushed from the room.

CHAPTER XIII

A FIRST LANDING

The young aviator was not unused to “thrills” in his professional experience. He noted no deviation in the straight progress of the Albatross. Mr. King did not distract attention from the signal plate. Still Dave awaited some explanation of the detonation with curiosity and anxiety.

“It’s all right,” reported Professor Leblance, reappearing a few minutes later.

“Explosions?” questioned the airman, simply.

“Yes. Three of the balloonets blew up.”

“Which means?”

“Nothing,” replied the Frenchman, with his accustomed shrug of the shoulders. “We must have struck a warm current. Ah, yes, that is true,” he added, as he made the thermometer test. “You see, the sudden transition from cold caused an expansion and affected the balloonets.”

“Does that weaken the lifting force, Professor?” inquired Dave.

“Not perceptibly. I count on such accidents, more or less. I can duplicate the balloonets, and as to the gas – we have arranged for all necessary replenishment in that direction. Mr. King, everything is favorable for a descent.”

“All right,” replied the airman. “Have you any idea where we are?”

“I should say, south of Washington.”

“In Virginia, then?”

“Or still farther south. I have measured the distance covered since our start, but I do not know how far we are inland.”

Mr. King left Dave in charge of the signal table for a few moments. He went to the lookout, meantime instructing the young aviator as to what buttons he should operate. This brought the Albatross on a lateral slant. The enormous headlight at the prow of the airship cast a glow far below. Mr. King was able to trace outlines on the landscape. He returned to the pilot table, and following his directions there were many changes made in the course of the giant airship during the next half hour.