Kitabı oku: «The Boy Aviators in Nicaragua; or, In League with the Insurgents», sayfa 4
CHAPTER VII.
FEATHERING THE GOLDEN EAGLE
Bright and early the next day the work of completing the erection of the Golden Eagle went on. The lower planes were covered and threaded on to the frames with the same care as the covering of the upper set had been accomplished.
The long bird-like balancing tail was then put in place and the tiller lines – of bronze rope – threaded through guiding pulleys to its planes which were designed to raise or lower the course of the ship when in the air. The lateral steering was accomplished by means of double vertical rudders of the thinnest bronze obtainable, strengthened by a triangular frame of aluminum, and were controlled by a clever device of Frank’s from the same wheel that adjusted the horizontal planes.
Then came the pleasant work of fitting up the car. There was a box for Frank’s binoculars and separate compartments for each of the instruments used in determining height and speed. Then the thermometer had to be screwed in place and the automobile clock adjusted where the steersman could see it. The food basket was then stocked, for Frank did not believe in doing things by halves and he was determined that when they quit work that night that everything about the ship should be in ship-shape fashion and ready for flight at a moment’s notice.
In the food basket, besides the blankets and medicines already mentioned and some folding knives and forks, the boys packed:
Four pounds of beans, a small box of hardtack, a plentiful supply of soup and meat tablets as used by the German army and which contain a supply of nutriment far in excess of their bulk, five pounds of bacon, the same quantity of ham, tins of salt, pepper and seasoning, a can of butter for special occasions and two cans of condensed milk, and five packages of self-raising flour.
“There doesn’t look to be enough there to feed a flock of canary birds,” remarked Billy, as he watched the stowing of the grub.
“That’s because you don’t know the exact science of modern rations,” replied Frank, “experiments in Germany have proved that the condensed soups and meat essences we have in that are alone capable of sustaining life for a long period, the other things are luxuries.”
“Well, me for porterhouse steaks and food you can get your teeth into,” replied Billy. “Count me out on this tabloid table-d’hôte idea.”
“It’s easy to see you were never cut out for an aeronaut,” laughed Harry, “here, lay hold of this bar and make yourself useful.”
The body of the car was raised on screw-jacks, when the work of attaching it to the planes had been completed, and the food basket carefully slung underneath, where it was readily getatable through a small hinged hatch in the floor of the pilot’s cockpit. Then came the work of attaching to the bottom of the frame, and to the tail, the wheels and spring braces which were devised to make a descent in the airship as easy as alighting from a taxicab. The wheels were also to aid in starting the craft.
Frank and Harry had come to the conclusion long before they finished building the Golden Eagle that they did not want to have to cart around a runway with them to give the ship start when they wished to make a flight, as is the case with the Wright Brothers’ machines. Their air craft was equipped with pneumatic tired-wheels like those of a bicycle, only several times as strong, in order to give her a good running start when her twin propellers were started.
When they wished the Golden Eagle to soar aloft from the ground, all that was necessary to do with this equipment was to throw in a clutch geared to the rear pair of wheels and the Golden Eagle, like a great bird with her wings spread, began to glide over the ground, and in a few seconds the pressure of the air under her curved planes gave her the necessary lift and she shot up like a hawk, or her namesake, leaving the eyrie.
The forward pair of wheels were movable, castor-fashion, so that when the ship struck the ground they were free to head in any direction in which the ship might take the earth. The rear wheels were attached to the body of the aeroplane in the same manner, except that they had a device connected with them which made it possible to lock them when the operator wished to throw in the clutch that started the engine up. The forward wheels also had a detachable steering appliance connected with them so that in starting the machine it could be steered in any direction the operator desired, like an automobile.
Besides these wheels the forepart of the Golden Eagle possessed a pair of inclined planes moving on an axis. To the outer ends of these planes were attached powerful springs. The action of these planes when the forward end of the ship struck the ground on them was of course made free from jar by the spring attachment which acted as a sort of buffer. The wheeled arm attached to the bird-like tail astern was geared in a similar fashion and was designed to support this important part of the aeroplane and protect it from damage when the Golden Eagle settled.
Frank eagerly explained the uses and action of all the devices to his father and Jimmie Blakely, the latter of whom had neglected his work shamefully since the Golden Eagle had been roosting under its palm-thatched shed. How the ship got its name was at once apparent as soon as the boys had completed covering its wings. The balloon silk they used was of a rich orange hue and indeed the ship looked like nothing so much as a great golden bird.
The last task the boys had to tackle was the delicate one of placing the engine and its condenser in position and connecting it to the gasolene, water and lubricating tanks. Then there was the job of putting in the ignition apparatus and wiring it up to the spark plugs of the motor. Frank and Harry used the jump-spark system as being both simpler and easier to repair in time of trouble than the make and break method. The spark for starting was obtained from batteries, but when under way the Golden Eagle’s engine was “sparked” by a magneto. Both boys always carried a supply of extra spark plugs in case of the carbonization of the ones already in the cylinders and they had had very little trouble indeed with this important part of their engine, one which gives more bother usually than any other part of the motor. The spark plugs were hooded with waterproof caps as a precaution against short-circuiting by rain or dampness.
The twin propellers of the Chester boys’ craft, four-bladed ones of bronze, framed and covered with specially prepared and varnished fabric. These frames were internally braced by specially tested steel wire and had shown themselves in every way capable of standing the terrific strain that 1200 revolutions a minute put on them. The shafts connecting them with the engine were of the best Tobin bronze, a non-corrosive material and one of the most suitable metals for the construction of propeller shafts.
It took Frank and Harry the best part of another day to adjust the engine to its bed and true up all its connecting parts with spirit-level and plumb-line. This work they had to do alone as it required expert knowledge of the most exhaustive kind.
At last, however, everything was adjusted and screwed in place in a way to satisfy even the critical Frank, who went over every joint and fastening with an eye that spied out immediately the slightest weakness. When everything was announced to be complete at last, a holiday was declared on the estancia and all hands gathered round the palm-thatched shed to watch Frank and Harry tune up the Golden Eagle’s engine.
Frank’s eyes fairly shone as he stepped lightly into the car and opened the valve that sent a flow of life-giving gasolene along a brass tube to the carbureters.
Before he did this, however, the hands had been busy for an hour filling coffee bags with earth and heavy stones and piling them down on all sides of the Golden Eagle. Stout stakes were also driven into the ground and the craft securely roped to them in such a way that she could not free herself when her propellers began to whiz round.
“Now, then, hold tight, everybody!” shouted Frank, as he “tickled” the carbureter, and Harry threw in the switch. The Boy Aviator gave the flywheel a light twist back against the compression – there was a loud “bang,” that made the women shriek and the next minute the engine of the Golden Eagle was purring away as contentedly as if it had never been separated from the craft of which it was the heart and packed up for its long voyage.
But the natives, – where were they? With the exception of one tubby little fellow who was sprawling on the ground and who scrambled to his feet and made off at top speed as soon as possible, there was not one to be seen of all the crowd that had clustered round the Golden Eagle but a few minutes before.
They had not heeded Frank’s warning cry, – somewhat naturally, not understanding it, – and when the huge propellers began to whirl round, creating a regular whirlwind in which hats were snatched from heads, and dresses blown every which way, they had, with one concerted howl of “Witchcraft,” fled to their quarters, where only a great deal of persuasion induced them to leave.
By supper time that night, the boys were delighted to think that their beautiful craft was ready to soar again. Everything in fact was ready for an immediate flight. The sand-bags were removed, the ropes untied from the stakes, and the batteries carefully seen to. It was with light hearts that the boys hurried to the house for their evening meal. As for Billy, he danced a sort of what he was pleased to call a “Pean of Triumph,” round the ship. The performance of the engine and the general trim and trig appearance of the Chester boys’ flyer had aroused him to such a height of admiration and enthusiasm that he declared himself quite willing to take a trip in it himself – which was “going some” for Billy.
CHAPTER VIII.
BILLY BARNES TAKES THE WARPATH
The next day Frank and Harry busied themselves in their father’s laboratory during most of the morning. They had been delighted to find such a completely equipped repository of chemicals as it proved to be, and their admiration of their father’s researches was only equalled by their natural surprise at finding such a workshop on a Nicaraguan plantation.
“I always knew you were a great dab at chemistry, father,” remarked Harry, “but I never dreamed that you had a regular Institute of Scientific Research on tap.”
“By the way,” asked Frank, who had been busy taking stock of the various chemicals, “have you any picric acid here, father?”
“I believe I have, my boy,” replied Mr. Chester, “but that’s dangerous stuff to fool with. You know it’s a high explosive.”
“Perfectly,” rejoined Frank, “and it’s for that very reason I want it.”
“I confess I don’t understand you,” was his father’s reply.
“It’s simply this,” replied Frank, with a smile at his bewilderment, “it has become a by no means uncommon practice, though of course most of the better class clubs have made rules against it, to mix picric acid with gasolene in racing motor boats and air crafts. It is usually very injurious to the engine, however, and I don’t suppose any one would want to use it except in an emergency.”
“What do you want it for, then?” asked his father in surprise.
“Well, I believe in always looking ahead, for very often it’s the unexpected that happens,” rejoined Frank. “Our engine now can turn up 1200 revolutions a minute. I believe that with the use of picric acid in the gasolene we could give her as much additional power as 1500 revolutions a minute.”
“Well?” inquired his father expectantly.
“That being so,” went on Frank, “the Golden Eagle would have just that much more lifting power, the stability of an airship depending upon the speed at which she travels through the atmosphere. So you see,” he concluded with a smile, “that some day we might want to carry an extra passenger and in that case a gallon of picric acid would come in mighty handy.”
After a little more argument Frank won his point, and that night the boys stored aboard the Golden Eagle– after first carefully seeing that it was not in a position where it was likely to prove dangerous – a stone carboy of the explosive acid. They had hardly completed the work when the sound of wheels was heard on the drive, and when they reentered the house they found that Don Pachecho and his beautiful daughter were the visitors.
Señora Ruiz showed plain evidences of her suffering over the news of her husband’s death. The boys, who had heard of the disastrous battle from their father, avoided all reference of course to the revolution, but it was Don Pachecho himself who brought the subject up.
“Have you heard the latest news of the revolution. Señor?” he asked, after the introductions were over, and Billy had whispered to Harry what a fine photograph of “an old Spanish don” Mr. Chester’s neighbor would make.
Mr. Chester shook his head. Indeed, since a couple of days before the man who carried messages and letters between the hacienda and Greytown, had reported that Zelaya’s forces had cut the telegraph wires and taken complete charge of the cables, the party at the plantation had heard nothing of the movements of either the insurgents or the troops of the government.
“I learned from a party of rubber-cutters who passed the plantation to-day,” went on Don Pachecho, “that Estrada’s troops have suffered a further defeat and that Zelaya’s men, under General Rogero, crazed with their victories are burning and destroying property and committing all sorts of outrages everywhere.”
“Where was this last defeat?” asked Mr. Chester, seriously.
“It cannot have been more than fifty miles from here,” continued Don Pachecho, “that is what makes it so ominous. It means,” he went on, his voice rising, “that if Estrada cannot hold them in check that the government troops will drive him back on Greytown within a few hours and then you know what will happen,” he shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, we can hardly expect much mercy from Rogero,” commented Mr. Chester. He then described to Don Pachecho what had taken place in Greytown the day that he had met the boys and Billy Barnes. Billy himself also conveyed his suspicions of Rogero as the murderer of Dr. Moneague.
The old don was greatly agitated at this news.
“Ah, the inhuman scoundrel!” he cried, raising his wrinkled hands above his head, “it was without doubt he that killed Moneague. And he now holds the secret of the lost mines. With his power over Zelaya and the wealth that is now at his disposal, he can speedily become powerful enough to ruin us all. I am an old man, Señors, but I do not think that of all the men I have ever seen, that I have met one who was this man’s equal in the resources of evil. Woe betide the man who falls into his clutches.”
Billy had been listening to this conversation with great attention and he now struck in with:
“What do you suppose he has done with the plan of the lost mines, sir?”
Don Pachecho shrugged his shoulders.
“Señor Barnes, there is only one thing that he can do with it, and that is to keep it always about him. I do not suppose it has been off his immediate person since he killed poor Moneague.”
Billy sat lost in thought for a while. Then he raised his head.
“I suppose if he lost it he’d cut up at a great rate,” he said, “at any rate, he’d give more attention to getting it back than to keep on licking the revolutionists.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Hum,” said Billy, in a way he had when he had arrived at any important conclusion.
In the moonlight the party walked down to where the Golden Eagle lay under her extemporized garage, or rather aerodrome. Even Señora Ruiz forgot for a second her deep sorrow as she gazed at the beautiful creation, its graceful wings shimmered and silvered by the brilliant moonlight.
“Oh, Señors,” she cried, “you built this wonderful fly thing all yourselves?”
When their father had replied for the blushing Frank and Harry in the affirmative, the Spanish woman clasped her hands impulsively.
“But you are – oh, pardon me – but you are so young – chico, is it not so?”
“I take it that ‘chico’ is Spanish for ‘kids,’” remarked the irrepressible Billy sotto voce to Harry. What the latter might have replied to this, however, was cut short by a startling thing that occurred at that moment.
Frank who had been bending over the engine had given a loud exclamation.
“Harry – father – Billy, come here quick!” he exclaimed excitedly.
They ran toward him.
“Look here,” cried the boy, pointing to the engine, “some one has been tampering with the carbureter. They knew we could not replace it here without weeks of delay.”
“And by jimminy crickets!” cried Billy, who had been examining the engine on his own hook, “they must have been scared away just as we came down. See here,” went on the reporter, “they left in such a hurry that one of them forgot his hat and the sweatband is still warm and damp. Whoever monkeyed with this engine took off his hat to do it and he couldn’t have been at work very long for the hat’s still warm and besides, see here, he has only given the carbureter a few turns.”
Mr. Chester took the hat that the excited Billy thrust at him and regarded it with some attention. It was a greasy battered affair, but it was trimmed with a new black ribbon on which was sewn in red thread the words “Viva Zelaya.”
“Not difficult to trace some of our old friend Rogero’s work here,” he said. “He evidently means to keep his threat to prevent your flying.”
“We shall have to do sentry duty here for the rest of the night, Harry,” said Frank in a determined voice.
“You bet we will,” agreed his younger brother; an injury to their ship affected these boys far more than any hurt they themselves might sustain.
Rifles were secured from the house, also blankets, and the boys made up a regular camp-fire round which they sat long after Don Pachecho and his bereaved daughter had driven off and the lights in the house had been extinguished.
“I tell you what, Frank,” said Harry, “we have simply got to take a hand in this thing now. You know that if that fellow Rogero ever gets as far as this what he means to do to this plantation.”
“I know,” rejoined his brother, “he would take delight in ruining what father has built up and then blaming it on his troops and the worst of it is we would never be able to get any redress.”
Both boys were silent for several minutes, thinking things over.
“What’s the matter with taking a little spin in the Golden Eagle to-morrow and finding out just where he is, then we can shape our plans accordingly,” suddenly broke out Harry.
“Yes, but look here, Harry,” replied the conservative Frank, “you know that we are supposed to be non-combatants.”
“Oh, hang being non-combatants!” rejoined Harry, “we are not going to sit here and see our father’s plantation destroyed by this ruffian, are we? and you know too,” he went on, “that the amiable cuss promised to give us a chance to see the inside of a prison if he could lay his hands on us.”
“You are right there, Harry,” agreed Frank, looking up, “if the revolutionists are driven back any closer we shall have to take up arms to protect ourselves. It has never been the way of Americans to let any one walk all over them without registering a kick.”
“You bet ours is going to be an emphatic one, too,” enthusiastically cried Harry; “give me your hand, old chap – shake. It’s a go?”
“Yes,” replied Frank slowly, “it’s a go.”
“Hurrah,” shouted Harry, sitting up with his blanket up to his chin, “we’ll give you the spin of your life to-morrow, old Golden Eagle.”
It had been agreed that Frank was to take the first watch, and so while the elder brother sat rifle in hand, guarding the aeroplane in which they were destined to have such strange adventures in the immediate future, Harry slumbered the sleep of the just.
“I’ve only been asleep five minutes,” he protested when Frank woke him to do his “trick” on guard.
“You’ve had a three-hour nap,” laughed Frank, “and snored loud enough to have brought the whole of Zelaya’s army on us if they’d been around.”
Whoever the man was who had tried to disable the Golden Eagle, he did not put in any further appearance that night, nor did anything happen to vary the monotony of the night-watch. As soon as it was daylight the boys raced for the bath, plunged in, and after a refreshing swim made for the house.
They made for Billy’s room intending to drag that sleep-loving young person out and duck him head over heels into the bath at the deep end.
To their amazement the room was empty. The bed had not been slept in. Moreover, Billy’s camera and canteen were missing.
Pinned to the bedclothes was the following characteristic note, the effect of which on the boys may be imagined.
“Dear Frank and Harry.
“I have gone to get the plans that Rogero stole from Moneague. It will make a bully picture to go with my story when he is pinched. It is about up to me to do something. Regards to your father. Please apologize to him for my unceremonious departure for the warpath. Good luck to you, and I wish myself the same. So long.
Billy Barnes.”
Frank gave a long whistle as he read this document.
“Well, of all the – ,” began Harry, and stopped. Words failed to express his feelings.
“This settles it,” said Frank suddenly with decision, “we’ve got to get after Rogero, now.”
“You mean that Billy – ,” began Harry.
“I mean that we’re not going to let Billy get shot for a bit of pottery,” cut in Frank.
“The Golden Eagle will sail at nine o’clock,” he added. “Come on, Harry – we’ve just time for a bit of breakfast, and then for the air.”
