<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br/> <span class="cheaderfont">SIX MILES UP IN THE AIR</span></h2>
<p>For an instant the hearts of all the boys stood
still and each looked at the other in
consternation.</p>
<p>“In the name of the United States of
America!”</p>
<p>That meant that in some inexplicable way
their project had leaked out and that the federal
government had sent officers to prevent their
going.</p>
<p>The heavy pounding on the great gate had
resumed and now the same commanding voice
shouted:</p>
<p>“Are you going to open to us, or is this
intended as resistance of the law? I give you
two minutes to open these doors before we smash
them in!”</p>
<p>“That fellow means business,” whispered
Alan. “Whatever can we do? We dare not
oppose them, yet to let them in means the
indefinite postponement of our flight.”</p>
<p>“We’ll go anyway,” said Ned, his eyes lighting
with determination. “This is only another<span class="pagenum">[71]</span>
scheme to delay us. Are you all ready there,
Mr. Engineer?”</p>
<p>“Whenever you say the word,” answered
Bob up through the tube.</p>
<p>“Then start your engines! We’ll be a mile
up in the sky before they can break in those
heavy doors.”</p>
<p>So saying, Ned jammed down hard on his
starting lever, the whir of the big turbines
swelled forth. But not a tremor shook the <em>Ocean
Flyer</em>. It did not budge an inch.</p>
<p>Someone had been tampering with the pilot
room apparatus.</p>
<p>With a groan of desperation, Ned bent over
the complexity of gears. He located the trouble
almost immediately and was relieved to note that
it was merely superficial—a matter of minutes
to repair. But too late! At that moment the
big yard gates were burst open forcibly and in
strode four burly federal plain-clothes men,
displaying their badges of authority. One other
man accompanied them. Alan, who went out on
the lowest exposed gangway of the <em>Flyer</em> to
meet them, recognized him in an instant. It
was Mr. Geisthorn, the local correspondent of
the <cite>Berliner Tageblatt</cite>.</p>
<p>“Is this Mr. Napier?” growled the leader.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[72]</span></p>
<p>“No, I am Mr. Hope. Mr. Napier will be
here presently.”</p>
<p>The officer pulled an official looking document
from his breast pocket and extended it towards
Alan.</p>
<p>“We have a warrant for the arrest of both
of you gentlemen. Also for that of one Stewart,
said to be connected with the New York <cite>Herald</cite>.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Stewart will also be here presently,”
said Alan. “Upon what charge are we to be
detained?”</p>
<p>“Conspiracy—attempting to violate the
federal neutrality by lending aid to one or
another of the warring nations in Europe.”</p>
<p>“That is untrue.”</p>
<p>“I have nothing at all to do with that. My
instructions are simply to place a man on guard
over this vessel and to escort you gentlemen to
the secretary of state at Washington.”</p>
<p>Alan’s wits were working fast. He was fighting
to gain time, and the taffrail beneath his
fingers was aquiver with subtle tremors; he could
feel the premonitory hum of the engines as first
one and then the other of the big turbines began
moving. Ned had fixed the damage and things
were going down in the engine room. The hum
became a whir, a buzz and steady purr. The<span class="pagenum">[73]</span>
<em>Ocean Flyer</em> trembled momentarily from stem
to stern. The eleven-foot “moon” propellers
began to whirl with rapidly increasing velocity.
Then suddenly the streams of compressed air
began to sing in a way that was like the terrifying
moan of a cyclone near at hand. Then the
tornado burst. Driven irresistibly forward by
the most powerful propellers ever devised by
man, that vast mass of steel surrendered and
slid jolting forward for twenty yards or so,
scattering the spectators wildly. With a bound
the huge craft rose into the still air and plunged
forward and upward on a forty-five degree angle
at rapidly increasing speed.</p>
<p>“Stop, in the name of—” The official’s
thunderous voice was lost in the distance. The
factory buildings and the little group of
detectives seemed to be dropping farther and
farther down below, and, were it not for the
rush of the wind, the <em>Flyer</em> might have seemed
to be stationary. The figures on the aviation
field already were dwarfed by distance and half
obliterated in the darkness. A sudden flash of
red light stabbed the shades far beneath, and
the report of the officer’s revolver was faintly
audible.</p>
<p>Already the airship was sailing out over<span class="pagenum">[74]</span>
Greater New York. The lighted streets far below
checked the area into rectangular figures like a
gigantic chessboard. Broadway became a hazy
blur of white, and the atmosphere took on a
different quality—biting, hardy, more rarified.
The stars which sparkled coldly down there on
earth, became blazing, golden jewels in a setting
of black velvet, which was the sky. The noise of
the engines was now a low, steady drone.</p>
<p>The trip to Europe and the great war had
begun.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>There is nothing in particular to tell about
the three-thousand mile air voyage across the
Atlantic. To Alan, Ned and Buck, snugly
encased within the automatically heated interior
of the <em>Ocean Flyer</em>, the sense of aloofness from
solid earth was lost, and it seemed much as if
they were seated at their office desks back on
Fifth Avenue.</p>
<p>The height of six miles from earth level at
which they traveled, blotted out all sight of
tangible objects, the comparative distance from
which might have made the altitude terrifying to
less experienced aviators than the Airship Boys.
Sometimes the <em>Flyer</em> cut its way through clouds,
but the main strata of these even lay far below<span class="pagenum">[75]</span>
them. All that was visible through the heavily
glassed portholes was a dull, grayish void. The
terrific rate of speed at which they were traveling
was not at all apparent.</p>
<p>The young aeronauts were kept too busy
managing the ship to have spent much time star-gazing
if there had been something of outside
interest. Ned and Alan took turns in steering
the course and taking hourly observations upon
one or another of the exceedingly delicate instruments
at their command. Buck stood to the
engines in the hold, being relieved by one of
the other boys when it came his turn to sleep or
prepare meals.</p>
<p>Speaking of eating; those little repasts that
Buck Stewart prepared in the cook’s galley
were absolutely mouth-watering. Had he not
been so able a newspaper reporter, he would
have made a better chef. Oh! those luscious,
thick, juicy steaks, oozing such odoriferous steam
and a-swim in milk gravy from the same pan;
hashed, golden-brown potatoes, one mouthful of
which was to implant an insatiable craving for
more; little green pickles with a real tang to
them and flavored by the cinnamon, nutmeg and
tasty spices in which they were bottled; flap-jacks,
rich with molasses; sugar cakes and rich<span class="pagenum">[76]</span>
coffee that warmed one down to the very toe
tips; and <em>fruits</em>! Well, there were big, rosy-cheeked
apples, that kind of oranges which can
be smelled all over the room, nuts, raisins and
what not. The larder was well stocked, and
Buck Stewart certainly knew how to prepare it
appetizingly if ever anyone did.</p>
<p>Fortunately the weather continued fair and no
dangerous air-pockets or unexpected whirlpool
wind currents were met with. The eighteenth
hour of their flight found everything going as
well as possibly could be wished. Their watches
were still set to New York time; it was now six
P. M. in America, but midnight in London.
There was a full moon, and it was quite light.</p>
<p>“By this time,” observed Ned, “we ought to
be pretty near the English coast, so I would
suggest that we drop the <em>Flyer</em> down to an altitude
where we can locate ourselves more
definitely by actual landmarks.”</p>
<p>This was done. With the huge wing-like
planes expanded to the full, the <em>Ocean Flyer</em>
coasted aslant the air-waves. The cloud belt
encircling the globe was penetrated and passed
through, leaving small drops of moisture glistening
all over the glass of the portholes. The
moon’s rays made the metal body of the vessel<span class="pagenum">[77]</span>
glitter like so much silver. As they dropped
lower and lower, the world became dimly visible,
seeming to be literally rising to meet the descending
aviators. At an altitude of three thousand
feet, the downward planing was discontinued
and level flight again maintained.</p>
<p>To the one hand stretched the seemingly endless
expanse of gray, breaker-crested ocean, but
on the other, due ahead, lay the rock-bound,
irregular coast of the British Isles. Not so very
far away now, was poor Bob Russell on trial for
his life.</p>
<p>All three boys were thinking about him. It
was not necessary to mention his name.</p>
<p>“Not long now,” said Ned.</p>
<p>“No, not long,” agreed Alan and Buck.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[78]</span></p>
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