by Joan Clark
CHAPTER XIV
DOWN THROUGH THE AIR
With wire braces screaming, a plane shot downward a thousand feet andthe pilot struggled to bring his ship out of the left spin.
The pilot was Hal Dane. He had been with the Wiljohn Works nearly a yearnow. In that time he had participated in some marvelous experiments,tried out in the hope of furthering the safety of aviation.
A room painted black, strung with wires, some bats turned loose in it,and doors and windows closed to darken it totally--this might seemchildish dabbling when thought of in connection with the modern scienceof aviation. Yet it was a test tried out with a very real purpose.Outside of that room men waited at ear-phones connected electricallywith those wires so that the least flutter of a bat's wing against awire would be indicated. The bats flew madly round and round the room,but never so much as touched one of the many wires. From this experimentscientists contended that bats flying in the air put out some sound andget an echo from that sound when it vibrates near an object. Not so farand foolish a leap from bats to aviation after all! For if a human flyerof the air could devise a ship that put out a sound and got an echo whenit approached an object, it would help solve the problem of landing inthe dark and of flying in fogs.
Fog, the heavy, silent, dreaded enemy of every aviator! At the WiljohnWorks continuous experimentation went on to help solve the dangers offog flying. An electrical instrument to measure distance from the groundin tens of feet would help an aviator trying to land in the dark. Amechanical eye to see through the fog was a crying need. Work was beingpushed along both of these lines.
Another and very different type of experimentation was the testing ofthe wings and shapes of aircraft in connection with their airresistance.
The tests for great altitude, however, thrilled Hal Dane more thananything else. Through all this present labor and study, the call of theriver of the winds still lured him. And to ride the currents of the airrivers at their swiftest, one must be able to withstand the velocitiesand the pressure of the air heights. The fearful cold of high altitudesunbalanced ships with heavy coatings of ice, clogged instruments and airindicator tubes with snow. Wiljohn men were pushing experiments for suchflying. Already a spread of emulsions on the wings had been found toreduce the ice danger. But for real success, aviators must learn towholly master the air heights.
Still another type of work was the testing of completed planes. NoWiljohn ship was permitted to leave the factory until it had beenthoroughly tried out.
Hal Dane was up in one of these new planes now--and was coming down in awrong spin.
It was a new type training ship that the navy had ordered. In the workit was built for, the plane might never be put to any particular stressand strain. Yet no flyer can predict what risk may suddenly be thrustupon any ship up in the air. So, like all planes constructed at theWiljohn Works, it had to be subjected to the worst conditions that mightever overtake any aviator.
All in the course of his usual everyday work, Hal Dane had been orderedto take her up and put her through her paces. First he was to shoot foraltitude, next dive vertically, full engine, for eight thousand feet,then straighten out to volplane safely to ground in circling glides.
At twelve thousand feet he had gone into the dive, but instead offalling straight, some faulty mechanism of the ship had hurled it intothe dread left spin. Many an aviator would have crawled out then andsought safety in a parachute jump. Young Dane had gone up to test thisship, and test it he would, fighting it down to a last margin for asafety leap.
Three times he exerted every ounce of strength that was in him towards aright pull so that the torque or twisting force of the motor would bringhim out of the spin. But the machine would not respond. Another thousandfeet--a wrench! And, ah, he had done it, she was coming straight!Mentally, Hal began cataloging the spiraling, the drop, the wrench hehad just been through, trying to visualize the engine faults that hadbrought these on. Too much weight here, not enough strength there. Badfaults, but there were remedies.
She was diving pretty now, straight on, like something shot out of acannon mouth.
Then at seven thousand feet down things began to happen. Before Hal Danecould realize it, the ship literally shattered to pieces under him. Acrash, a rending, a tearing!
He jack-knifed forward across the safety belt and force hurled himhead-on against the board, knocking him unconscious. A fuselage gonecrazy, wings torn off, tail torn off, shot in sickening whirls towardsthe ground. Strapped to it, rode Hal Dane, stunned into theunconsciousness of "little death," while real death rose up with theground to meet him.
As he fell, rushing air partly cleared his brain. But a flying-man'sinstinct, not conscious thought, set his hands to fumbling the safetybelt, to feeling for the ring of his parachute cord. Instinct freed him,sent him climbing to the edge to step off into space.
Things happen swiftly in the air. The ship had already fallen a thousandfeet while her pilot rode her down in his dazed condition. But even nowit was still some three thousand feet up--more than half a mile aboveearth. As Hal leaped out, he looked back over his shoulder to see inwhat direction the stripped fuselage was heading.
A moment more and he was hurtling down through space! Now the wreckageof the ship was even with him, now it had passed him, its greater weightcarrying it fast and faster.
Hal's fumbling fingers tugged at his rip cord. He was falling headon--ages swept past--would she never open? Then the parachute blossomedinto a great blessed silken flower above him. The silk went taut, yankedhim back into an upright position. Beneath the inverted chalice hefloated. The earth had ceased to rush up to meet him. It stayed where itbelonged--no, it was floating gently up to meet him now. He was goingout of his head again, losing his grip on himself. Quick, beforeblackness went over him again, he must choose a place to land!
He looked down, heard a crash as the ship hit the ground. An airpathseemed sucking him down, hurtling him on to land in the very midst ofthe wreckage. Bad landing--flames might burst out in that twisted massbelow him!
Before his brain went blank again, he must side slip, veer his parachutein a different direction. With instinctive, mechanical motion, hisfingers reached up, caught a cluster of shrouds in his hand and drewthem down little by little, spilling air from the 'chute. His speedincreased as the drop veered off at a sharp gliding angle.
All over. That must be ground below.
But instead of solid contact, there came a splash.
One moment Hal Dane's feet struck water, the next moment he went down,engulfed!
