The Flying Reporter

  CHAPTER VII

  A Forced Landing in a Fog

  For a second the two old friends held each other's hand. Then some onewas heard running toward them. A man appeared in the fog.

  "It's the man who looks after the field," said Johnnie, as soon as hecould distinguish the approaching figure. "I suppose he heard you landand has come to help."

  The man rushed up. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously. "Did you getdown without much damage?"

  "Don't believe I broke a thing," said Jimmy.

  "You know my plane is built with unusually strong underpinning. Let'stake a look at her."

  Johnnie's bonfire gave them enough light to see by. Quickly theyexamined the plane. Nothing was wrong externally.

  "Let's take a look at the oil line," said Jimmy. "Something went wrongwith it."

  He reached into his plane and drew out his flash-light. "Hold it," hesaid, shoving it into Johnnie's hand. Then he turned and opened thecowling of his engine.

  With practiced eye he glanced along the length of the oil line. At firstnothing wrong was apparent. But on the bottom of the engine compartmentwas a telltale pool of oil. Jimmy twisted his head and got a look at theunderside of the oil line. The pipe was cracked open along the seam. Thecrack extended for several inches. Practically all the oil had drippedfrom the engine.

  "Vibration must have done that," said Jimmy, as he turned to hiscompanions and explained what was wrong. "Likely it happened when I wentwest this afternoon, for I flew the ship pretty hard. I suppose the seamgave way then, and the hard trip to-night has opened it up. Have you gotany tire tape, Johnnie?"

  "Plenty of it," said Johnnie. "I'll fetch you some."

  "Bring all you can get," shouted Jimmy after the fast-disappearingJohnnie. "And arrange for some oil. I'll need a lot. Hurry as fast asyou can, Johnnie. I mustn't lose a minute."

  Jimmie stepped into the cabin of his ship and threw open a locker, inwhich he carried odds and ends that might be useful to him in just suchan emergency as this. There were rolls of tire tape here. Jimmy grabbedthem. In another moment he was rapidly taping the broken pipe-line. Overthe actual opening in the seam he wound several thicknesses of the tape.Then he began to twist the stuff around the remainder of the littlepipe. There was no telling how soon the rest of the seam would open, andJimmy meant to play safe. He used all the tape he had, and when Johnniecame back with additional rolls, he added these to his reinforcements.When all the tape was wrapped, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  "I don't believe we'll lose any more oil," he said, "even if the wholeseam opens up. She's wound tight and thick. Now, how about oil? Couldyou get any?"

  "Dad's bringing all we have," said Johnnie. "We buy it in thirty-gallonbarrels, as we can get it so much cheaper."

  "Thank heaven you've got plenty of it," said Jimmy. "It'll take a lot.How is your father going to get it here?"

  "On the truck," said Johnnie. And even as he spoke they heard thechugging of a motor and a farm truck came nosing through the fog.

  Jimmy stepped to the truck and greeted Mr. Lee. "It's mighty kind of youto help me out," he said. "I thought I was done, when I was forced down.But now I can take off again and I can still get to New York on time.I'll lose half an hour here probably, but there's still time enough if Idon't have any more trouble."

  Johnnie filled the oil tank as fast as he could. Jimmy snatched theopportunity to look his motor over. Everything seemed to be right. Thenhe watched the oil gauge and told Johnnie when to stop pouring oil. Hemade everything tight about the cowling, gave the ship a finalinspection under the rays of his flash-light, and stepped into hiscabin.

  Now he would know whether he might possibly still succeed in hisenterprise. He was fearful that the engine might have overheated andbeen injured when it was running with insufficient oil. Would it startnow? And if it started, would it run? Could he depend upon it? Would ithave power enough to lift him from the ground? Could he trust it toraise him high enough aloft to clear the mountains so close in front ofhim?

  Fearfully Jimmy pressed the starter. There was an explosion, thepropeller turned over once or twice and stopped. Jimmy's heart almoststopped with it. The engine was ruined. It would not go. He had failedin his effort. He had lost his big opportunity. All these thoughtsflashed through Jimmy's mind. Then came another. "It's got to go," hemuttered.

  He choked the engine and again touched the starter. For a moment thestarter whirred noisily, but the engine did not explode. Then there wasa bang, the propeller whirled madly about, and the engine began to humsmoothly.

  "There wasn't any gas in it the first time," thought Jimmy.

  Then he sat and listened. His motor ran as well as ever it had run. Itwas purring as smoothly as a sewing-machine. He ran his eye over hisinstrument board. The oil gauge was registering now. Everything lookedright. He did not take time to make his usual tests. Throttling down hisengine, he leaned from the cabin.

  "A million thanks, everybody," he said. "I'll get into touch with youlater. I've got to be off this instant or I'll be late with my stuff.Goodbye and good luck to you all. Thanks ever so much."

  He closed the cabin door and stepped into the pilot's seat. The enginebegan to pick up. It beat faster and faster. Presently the plane startedto roll forward, very slowly. Jimmy drove it straight on until he couldsee the little, low boundary lights that marked the edge of the landingfield. He drove the ship close to them, turned it about to head it intothe wind, then went charging blindly back across the field through thefog, almost straight at the reddish blur that he knew was Johnnie'sbonfire. His engine functioned perfectly. He gathered speed. Suddenlythe plane lifted from the ground and soared almost directly above theblazing pyre. For a single instant it was visible in the red mist abovethe flames. Then it vanished from view in the fog as a stone disappearsbeneath the water.

  Inside the plane Jimmy sat tense. His first effort was to gainelevation. Before him, at almost no distance, the hills once morereached an elevation of 2,000 feet. He had to climb a thousand feet toreach their tops, another thousand to be safe. But there was this factorin his favor. He was flying with the wind. The air would rush upwardwhen it struck the slopes of the mountains and he would be borne upwardwith it.

  But Jimmy was not waiting for any ascending currents of air to carry himaloft. He opened his throttle wide and climbed as rapidly as he couldpush his ship upward. For a few moments he thought of nothing else. Hewanted to gain altitude. With every second he breathed more easily. Hisaltimeter showed him he was mounting fast. Now he was at 1,300 feet, now1,500, now 1,800, now 2,000. Up he went. His altimeter registered 2,500feet. Jimmy knew he was safe. No hilltop in the region towered so high.At 3,000 feet he felt still better. But he did not stop climbing untilhe was thousands of feet aloft.

  All the time he had been climbing, Jimmy had also been trying to keep onhis course. The radio beacon made that easily possible. All the time ithad been singing in Jimmy's ears, "dah, dah, dah, dah," and Jimmythought he had never heard sweeter music.

  Assured of sufficient elevation, certain that he was on the line, Jimmyfelt sure that nothing could now prevent him from reaching his goal. Hewas elated. He might have broken his landing gear at Ringtown. The planemight have nosed over and damaged his propeller. He might even havecrashed. Any one of these things might have happened and one of themalmost certainly would have happened, had it not been for Johnnie Lee'sbeacon. Added to the light of the revolving beam from the landing fieldtower and his own flare, it had enabled Jimmy to get down safely. Itwouldn't matter if he did smash his landing gear when he came down onLong Island. He would then be at his destination.

  So Jimmy sailed ahead jubilantly. And his jubilation increased as heflew along. He knew just where he was. He glanced at his clock, to checkthe time, and ran his eye over all his other instruments. Everythingseemed to be working right.

  Meantime, the forces on the ground had not been idle. The moment thatJimmy took off from
Ringtown, the man who had helped Jimmy there hurriedto the telephone and informed the Bellefonte radio man that Jimmy hadlanded safely at Ringtown, had repaired a leak in his oil line, and hadtaken off again. At almost the same time word came to Bellefonte to theeffect that a plane had just passed over the Park Place beacon. That wasreassuring news, for it told the watchers that Jimmy had gotten safelyaloft once more.

  On he went, boring through the fog. To this he gave small heed. Hisentire attention was centred on his instrument board. He watched thatlike a hawk. From his turn and balance indicator, which told him when hewas on a level keel and was flying straight, his eyes jumped to histachometer, to his oil gauge, his oil temperature gauge, his altimeter,and so on from instrument to instrument. But most often his eye fellupon the oil gauge. Despite his confident remarks about the security ofthe pipe-line, he was none too sure that he would not have furthertrouble with it. But none developed, though Jimmy soared along, mileafter mile.

  A half hour passed. Jimmy had his eye on his clock. "We ought to beclose to Easton," he thought. He glanced out through the fog, though hehad no hope of seeing anything but mist. Nor did he see anything else.Yet the mist had a luminous quality he had not noticed at any othertime. He sped on and presently the mist lost its luminous effect. For amoment Jimmy was puzzled. Then a look of inquiry came to his face."Could that have been from the lights of Easton?" he thought. "If itwas, the fog is not so dense."

  He flew on. The radio beacon kept him straight on the course. His clockand his tachometer assured him that he was well past Easton. He felteasier in his mind. There were no more mountains to face. The waves ofland that make Pennsylvania so rugged were flattening out. Nowherebefore him, Jimmy knew, were there hills higher than 800 feet and soonhe would be over country as flat as a sea on a calm day. The thoughtcheered him. His radio signals were growing much stronger. He knew thatmeant that he was approaching Hadley Field. He began to peer out intothe mist, hoping to find it lessening.

  Presently a bright flash of light shone for a second against a bank offog. Jimmy almost cried out with joy. It was the beam of a revolvingbeacon. Soon he saw another flash of light. He began to descend and camedown cautiously until he was within a thousand feet of the earth. Andnow he could see, here and there as he flew, luminous patches in thefog. He knew well that these bright spots were the lights of towns. Hecalculated his position and slowly dropped down another hundred feet.

  He knew now that he was nearing Hadley Field. All about him were Jerseytowns. He could begin to make them out more plainly. The mist was nolonger in unbroken clouds. It was growing thin and stringy. Occasionallythrough a rift in it he could catch a clear glimpse of lights on theground. And now he began to see the beams of the revolving lights atfrequent intervals.

  He decided to try to talk with the Hadley radio man. Picking up hismouthpiece, he sent forth a call: "Jimmy Donnelly, in the _New YorkPress_ plane, calling Hadley Field."

  The call was answered as soon as he had done speaking. "Hadley Fieldanswering Donnelly," came the reply, sharp and crisp. "Is everything allright with you?"

  "Couldn't be better," replied Jimmy, "except for fog. That is growingless. What can you tell me about the weather between here and LongIsland?"

  "It improves all the way. Long Island just told us that there was almostno fog there."

  "Won't you ask them to have a taxi ready for me when I arrive," saidJimmy. "I've got to rush some films to the _Press_ office. I mustn'tlose a minute."

  "We'll call them right away and tell them you want a taxi. Have you anyidea where you are?"

  "I ought to be near--why, there's your neon light and the beacon overthe hangar. Now it's gone again. I must be very close to Hadley. Itdidn't seem to be more than two miles away."

  "We can hear your motor," came back the reply. "We'll tell Long Islandyou'll be there very soon. Good luck to you. We'll call them at once."

  Plainer and plainer Jimmy could see the glowing lights below him. Hedropped down another hundred feet. Suddenly he heard the marker beaconat Hadley Field. Now he was sure he knew where he was. There were thelights of New Brunswick. Beyond was Metuchen. Much farther away was aglow that must be Perth Amboy. Jimmy thanked his lucky stars. No longerwould he have the radio beacon to direct him. He must find his own way.Unless fog arose immediately, there would be no difficulty about that.In a few minutes he would be at his airport.

  The radio beacon had already ceased to beat in his ears. He was pastHadley Field. He set his course direct for his destination, noted thecompass direction, and flew on. Soon he was over Staten Island. He flewabove the Narrows and was over Long Island. Below him for miles glowedthe lights of Brooklyn. His plane rushed on like an eagle. Soon Brooklynwas behind him. His own field lay just before him. There were fog cloudsand shreds of fog, but it was easy enough to see down between them.Another half hour, Jimmy knew, would probably put the whole island undera deep blanket of fog. He had often seen the fog making up as it wasnow. But he cared nothing at all about what conditions would be like inhalf an hour. For he was home. His landing field was just under him.

  He nosed his ship downward, shut off his power, and came down in a longglide. The field was well lighted. He could see the earth perfectly. Heput his ship down in a three point landing, and rolled across the turf.Then he taxied rapidly to his hangar, gave a shouted order to fill thegas and oil tanks, threw off his parachute, grabbed his camera, andrushed out to the waiting taxi. In another second he was speeding towardManhattan.

  It still lacked several minutes of his deadline when he rushed into the_Press_ office and laid his story on the city editor's desk. A copy boyran to the photograph department with his camera. Jimmy sank into aseat. He suddenly felt weak. He was all atremble. It was the let downafter the tremendous strain he had undergone.

  The managing editor came walking out of his office. He held out his handand shook Jimmy's warmly. "It was a fine piece of work, Jimmy," he said."Handley telegraphed us about you and the bad night. We have followedyou all the way across. You had us pretty badly frightened when you toldBellefonte your engine was failing and you were making a forced landingin the mountains. And our relief was great when we found you werepatched up and on your way again. It is equalled only by our pleasure inseeing you."

  Jimmy looked abashed. Then he lost all sense of self-consciousness asthe thought of Johnnie Lee popped into his head.

  "I might not be here now, Mr. Johnson," he said, "if it had not been formy old friend Johnnie Lee. It was his bonfire that saved me. Without itI should almost certainly have crashed. I owe my life to him and the_Press_ owes its pictures and its story to him. He wants to be areporter, Mr. Johnson. Can't you help him? Haven't you a job for him?"

  "Has he done any reporting, Jimmy? Has he had any experience?"

  "No, sir. But he is clever enough. He could learn quickly, if you wouldgive him a chance. And I have no doubt he would be glad to work for verylittle pay or maybe none at all until he learned how to do the work.Can't you take him on, Mr. Johnson?"

  "I'm sorry, Jimmy, I'll gladly send him a check for his help to-night.We are always willing to pay anybody who helps us get news. But we haveno use for green reporters here. We need trained men. We seldom hirecubs any more. We want men with experience."

  "But you took me on," protested Jimmy, "and I was perfectly green."

  "You came on as a flier, Jimmy. And you would be the last man in theworld to say you were green at that job."

  "But I learned how to get news. So could Johnnie."

  "Yes, you did, Jimmy. You picked up the knack readily. And if youcontinue to improve, you'll make a great reporter some day. But youevidently had it in you."

  "Maybe Johnnie does, too."

  "I'm sorry, Jimmy. We can't possibly take him on. But if he got someexperience--if he showed us that he knew how to handle a story--I mightgive him a chance. I feel very much indebted to him. It was a greatthing for you to get through with that story, even if you were delayed."

  Jimmy l
ooked alarmed. "The story will make the edition, won't it?" heasked.

  "Absolutely. And we'll scoop every other paper in town on pictures. Theonly other pictures in the city were sent by wire, and they aren't halfas good as actual photographs. What's more, we'll have one feature thatno other paper in the country will have. That is the story of how the_Morning Press'_ flying reporter dared a fog that stopped even the AirMail, and got through. The story is already in type, Jimmy."