Fabulous Flight
Page 5
“That’s right, I had forgotten,” Peter said, and unpacked a can of salted peanuts from the food locker. As he settled himself again Gus called, “O.K. Pete. Enjoy yourself. And don’t worry. I’ll take a look now and then and I’ll be back at the end of the ninth. Right on the dot, as they say.”
Peter was already enjoying himself. It was a perfect day and a well-nigh perfect game. The sun was hot, the air was still and the game was nip and tuck all the way. Through his powerful field glasses Peter had a wonderful view of everything that went on. There was one uncomfortable moment when a high foul just grazed the flagstaff beside which he was sitting, otherwise it was pure bliss. Joe DiMaggio did hit two home runs; the second, in the ninth inning with two men on base, broke up the ball game.
Just as the tremendous roar rose from the stands and people started spilling out over the field, Gus arrived. Peter was too excited to notice that his friend seemed quite swollen in body and slow in movement. He scrambled up into the seat and cried, “Oh Gus, do you suppose we could speak to him?”
“Sure,” Gus said, “why not?”
He took off and made a heavy dive toward home plate, where a milling crowd of players were congratulating the hero. Gus swept within a few feet of their astonished faces while Peter, leaning out, screeched ecstatically, “Great work Joe. You were wonderful!”
"Did you see what I seen?" one goggle-eyed player asked another.
“I saw a sea gull, or I see a saw gull – I don’t know what I seen,” was the dazed answer. “Somethin’ I et, likely.”
DiMaggio rubbed a hand over his eyes and shook his head. “Looking into the sun too much,” he muttered. “Got to see the Doc about some new sunglasses.”
They all turned to watch the heavily laboring gull as he flapped frantically to gain altitude. “Jest some new kind of an advertisement stunt, I guess,” one of the players said. “Got a little radio or something tied on him. Prob’ly was supposed to say something about paper towels or razor blades. He ain’t making out very good.”
Gus was indeed having trouble in making out of the stadium. It took a great deal of flapping to clear the bleachers and they made it by just a few feet. He banked sharply and glided down to the Harlem River.
“Phew!” he grunted, as they skimmed along the river, shooting under bridges and dodging puffing tugboats. “That certainly was a tough one. Pete, don’t you never leave me loose again when there’s shads around. Overindulged, that’s what I done. Overindulged and then some, as they say. I’m chock full of shads clean to the ears. Should have knowed better at my age, but I’ve got a sort of a weakness that way.”
“Do you feel all right now?” Peter asked anxiously as they swept along the East River and out over the Sound.
“Feeling fine, never better,” Gus chuckled. “Just a bit overloaded is all. Be all right presently.”
They sailed along down the Sound, Long Island on their right, the haze-shrouded shore of Connecticut on their left. Soon they passed Montauk Light on the tip of Long Island and headed out over the clear blue waters of the Atlantic.
“Figgered we’d best spend the night to Nantucket,” Gus said. “Nice quiet place. Ought to have a good night’s sleep before we really shove off. May have to do a lot of night flying, all depends on the weather.”
“Oh Nantucket, that’s grand,” Peter exclaimed. “We go there every summer. The water’s so nice and there’s wonderful fish – ”
Gus burped so violently that the car shook. “If you’d just as soon, Pete,” he reproved, “please let’s not mention fish for a while. Them shads!”
Behind them the sun was nearing the horizon, the blue of the ocean became steadily deeper. Now far ahead they could see the white beaches of Nantucket floating on the water like shavings from a giant’s plane. They swept in over the moors where the little bays and ponds shone like bits of sky-blue mirrors set in a rich tapestry. Over the old gray town they went, past the glittering golden dome of the meetinghouse and on up harbor.
“Figgered Polpis harbor’d be our best spot,” Gus said as he banked and settled gently on the still surface of the little bay. The sun was just setting now, the water was like burnished gold, etched with the sharp black of tall cattails. The rolling moors were a misty purple spotted with deep blue shadows. Gus paddled gently up a tiny inlet where the water was even more still. Somewhere in the reeds a duck quawked sleepily.
“Well, I reckon this ought to do,” Gus yawned. “Better get yourself some supper, Pete, and a good long sleep. No supper for me though. Them shads was breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea and supper, far as I’m concerned.”
“I have some bicarbonate of soda,” Peter suggested. “Would you care for a dose?”
“Nope, thanks. Sleep’s all I crave.” Gus stretched his neck, ruffled his feathers. “G’night Pete,” he mumbled sleepily. “See you in the morning.” He tucked his head under his wing and in a moment was snoring steadily.
Peter supped on two Smithfield ham sandwiches, a slice of cake and a cup of hot cocoa. He washed his face and hands, brushed his teeth, undressed and donned his pajamas. Then he said his prayers and climbed into bed.
It was dark now; through the Plexiglas dome the whole sky winked with millions of stars. Along the far beach one or two picnic fires flickered long red reflections across the dark water. Far to the north Great Point lighthouse shone steadily. To the south, just above the moor hills, Sankaty Light flashed its alternating beam.
The cabin rocked ever so gently. Peter slept.
CHAPTER 8
The Long Hop
Peter waked just before sunrise. The little cabin was flooded with clear light. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, then he leaped out of bed, opened the dome and hopped out on Gus’s broad back. At the moment Gus was in the act of swallowing a small minnow.
“Good morning Gus,” Peter called happily. “I see you’ve got your appetite back.”
“Just a couple of little minners is all.” Gus grinned sheepishly and changed the subject. “Say, ain’t this a swell morning? Great day fer the races, as they say.”
It was a gorgeous morning. A fresh breeze sent little ripples splashing and chuckling along the shore. The sun, now just peeping above the ocean, shone warmly on the high sand cliffs and white beaches. Outside the harbor busy little fishing boats butted through the brisk sea kicking up bursts of spray.
With a whoop Peter tossed off his pajamas and dove in. He splashed and cavorted, swam around Gus two or three times and then made for a small sandy beach. Here he raced back and forth in the sunshine until he was thoroughly dry and warm.
Gus waddled up on the beach and settled in the warm sand. “If you wouldn’t mind taking off this contraption fer a while, Pete,” he suggested, “I might do a bit of ablutin’ myself.”
Peter unstrapped the car, dressed quickly and set about getting breakfast, for which he was now more than ready. There was orange juice, some cold biscuits, bacon and still plenty of hot cocoa. While Gus splashed and dove, and snapped up a few more minnows, Peter built a small fire, broiled his bacon and warmed up the biscuits. Never had a breakfast tasted better, even Gus consented to accept a few biscuits.
Peter washed up the dishes, repacked the food locker and made his bed neatly. He inspected the water tank which was still almost full and announced everything ready. Gus, who had been sunning and preening his feathers, yawned, stretched and then squatted down so that Peter could replace the car. This done and the straps snugly fastened there seemed no reason for further delay.
“Now Pete,” Gus said, “this here is the long hop, but there ain’t nothin’ to get worried about. We can always set down on the water and take a breather whenever we feel like it, unlike them dumb aireoplanes. I figger it ought to take about two days and nights, maybe more, maybe less. All depends on the weather.”
“They gave me a lot of maps and charts and tables,” Peter said. “Ocean currents, wind currents, prevailing drifts – all sorts of things.”
“That’s fine with me,” Peter laughed. “I probably couldn’t understand them either. Let’s go.”
Gus took a short run down the beach, spread his wings to the fresh breeze and they were off. They soared over the outer bar, shot past Great Point Light and in a moment were winging over the broad Atlantic.
Gus was really flying now and it was clear why he despised man-made aids. His skill and instincts were a thousand times more sure than any clumsy wind chart. Sometimes he flew high, sometimes just skimmed the surface of the water, always riding the most favoring breeze. There were long slanting glides at terrific speeds, breathtaking ascents, slow circlings and then a new series of dives. Peter had no way of judging their exact speed, but he could see that when they overtook ships going their way they passed them as though they were at anchor. Once they fell in with a Europe bound plane and for miles Gus raced it, easily keeping alongside.
Gus talked little while flying, his mind was on his work, but Peter had a wonderful time watching ships through his field glasses. They were following the main shipping lane, so there was scarcely a time when there wasn’t a ship somewhere in sight. There were stubby freighters, wallowing and kicking up huge wakes, slow heavy tankers, now and then a liner. They saw the graceful white winged Gloucester fishing schooners making for the Banks, and the slowly circling trawlers. Once or twice there were naval vessels; two knife-sharp destroyers, a long sleek-lined cruiser, once a dark, venomous-looking submarine.
Peter was so absorbed that he failed to notice it was far past lunch time when Gus suddenly spoke. “There she is,” he called, “that’s what I was lookin’ fer.” He went into a long racing glide.
Looking ahead Peter saw the most beautiful ship they had yet met. Even at this height she looked large, yet she slid through the water with far less fuss and effort than vessels one third her size. Her scrubbed decks gleamed white, her lifeboats and upper works shone with brilliant paint.
“The Queen Mary," Gus exclaimed jubilantly, " – and my lunch. They feed good, they do. Best there is. Better make hay while the sun shines, as they say. Prob’ly be my last decent meal fer some time.”
They circled the great ship two or three times. Peter could see the blue-clad officers on the bridge, gaily dressed passengers strolling the decks, games in progress, children playing.
Gus settled gently in the creamy wake and almost at once speared a piece of French pastry. “Lavish, that’s what it is,” he chortled when the pastry had been swallowed, “Plain lavish.” He snapped up a few stalks of celery, a sardine on toast and an untouched slice of honeydew melon. “Horse doovers and all,” he said jubilantly. “In near shore you’d have to fight for a treat like this, but out here a feller can dine like a gentleman, as they say.”
Peter, reminded that it was long past his own lunch time, brought out some deviled eggs, a couple of chicken sandwiches and a slab of chocolate cake. He lunched pleasantly, while Gus continued his happy foraging.
“Don’t overindulge now, Gus,” Peter laughed.
“Needn’t to worry,” Gus chuckled contentedly. “Shads is my only weakness. This here’s real dainty fodder.”
He took off easily and they were again on their way.
The long morning, the dazzle of the sea and the lulling motion of their progress all combined to make Peter dreadfully sleepy. Toward midafternoon he announced his intention of taking a nap.
“Good ideer, Pete,” Gus agreed. “Go to it. May grab a bit of shut-eye myself, often do on long trips. Only trouble nowadays is these blasted aireoplanes. Close your eyes a few minutes and one of ’em’s liable to slice you in half. Think they owned the sky. We’re off their route now though, so it’s all right.”
Peter stretched out on the bunk and almost immediately fell into a delicious sleep. When he woke the level rays of the setting sun shone in the cabin. From the bobbing motion he judged they were on the water. He stretched and went out on Gus’s back.
“Well,” Gus greeted him, “hope you had a good nap. Slep’ some myself. Just seen a freighter goin’ by and decided it was time for supper. Nothin’ fancy like the Queen Mary, but sustaining, very sustaining.”
Peter got out some food and ate a light supper while they watched the sun sink in a glorious bed of golden clouds.
“Real purty,” Gus commented, “but personally I don’t care for the looks of it. Figger we’ll keep on flying tonight. Had real good weather so far and we might’s well ride our luck while we got it, as they say. Sort of like night flying myself, quiet-like and you can sleep half the time. Go to bed when you feel like, Pete; see you in the mornin’.” He flapped a few times and they soared on eastward.
Peter sat in the chair for a while, while the stars appeared one by one until the dome of the sky was a brilliant twinkling canopy. Once in a while they passed the lights of a ship and could see its faintly luminous wake. Gus sailed in long, gentle, sleepy swoops. Finally Peter bid him good night and stumbled in to bed.
Later, he did not know how much later, Peter was waked by violent tossings of the car and a roaring, swishing sound. He hastily switched on his flashlight, but could see nothing through the roof but rushing water. He shut off the flashlight and clung to the handholds on the cabin wall. As his eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness he could occasionally see the dim blur of Gus’s streaming wings flapping and banking at wild angles. A flash of lightning gave a clearer view and made it plain that they were caught in a heavy storm. Peter dared not open anything, there was no way of communicating with Gus, so he just held tight.
There was a dive so sharp that he almost lost his grip and an even louder roaring. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a huge plane battling its way through the gale, its lights dim and sheets of rain streaming from the wings.
Peter was frightened, there was no denying that, but he had complete confidence in Gus and gradually relaxed. He was delighted to find that the car had not leaked a drop, everything was tight and shipshape. He opened the cap of the water tank which filled up immediately.
Then, as suddenly as a train coming out of a tunnel, they came out of the storm. The slashing roar of the rain ceased. The wild dives changed to the usual soothing glides. The Plexiglas dome dried off and a canopy of brilliant stars appeared. Peter stepped out on Gus’s sodden back and hailed him.
“Hi, Pete, how you doin’?” Gus called. “Quite a shower. Sorry I couldn’t miss it, but I sort of got caught nappin’, as they say. Wouldn’t a liked to a ben in that plane we passed. How’d the car make out?”
“Fine,” Peter answered. “Didn’t leak a drop. Don’t you want to take a rest? It must have been tough for you.”
“Reckon I will,” Gus agreed. “Calm as a millpond here. No use rushin’ things.” He glided down to a quiet landing.
The water was mirror smooth with only a gentle almost imperceptible swell. Gus ruffled his feathers, yawned a sleepy good night, tucked his head under his wing and at once began to snore. Peter climbed into bed and pulled up the blankets. They rose and fell gently on the soft swell, the stars glittered brilliantly. In a moment Peter also was asleep.
The next day was very like the first. The sun was brilliant, the winds favoring. They made splendid progress.
About midmorning Peter was thrilled by the sight of an old bark under full sail. Gus swooped down and circled around it several times so that Peter could view it from every angle. It was a lovely sight.
Shortly after lunch they noticed a great many more vessels than they had seen before. There were rusty little freighters belching great clouds of black smoke, small coastwise ships, trawlers and fishing smacks by the dozen.
“Do you know what, Pete?
” Gus said suddenly. “We’re way ahead of schedule. That storm must have give us a big boost. We’re gettin’ clost to England, that’s what. Ought to sight land any time now.”
Peter eagerly trained his field glasses on the horizon ahead and some time later shouted excitedly, “There it is Gus. Land ho! Dead over your beak.”
“Seen it a while ago,” Gus chuckled, “and what’s more I know what it is. It’s Land’s End, that’s what, and over there to the right is the Lizard. Hit ’er plumb on the nose, we did. Not bad navigatin’ for a iggorant feller from Baltimore, hey?”
As they swept past the Lizard Peter consulted his map of England. “You’re right Gus, of course. That must be Eddystone Light ahead and over to the left there is Plymouth where the Pilgrims set sail.”
“So that’s where they brung the Rock from,” Gus commented. “Right purty little place. Don’t see why they wanted to leave it fer any dreary old sand spit like Cape Cod.”
They soared along the South Coast, crossed the Isle of Wight, its waters dotted with hundreds of little sailboats and swung inland, north toward London.
“Croydon Airport is just south of London, maybe we’d better avoid that,” Peter suggested.
"I’ll say,” Gus grunted. “Blasted planes’ll be thicker’n fleas on a dog’s back. That there map of yours is some use after all.” He swung sharply to the left and they soon crossed a small winding river.
“Hold on Gus,” Peter called, “that must be the Thames. We can follow it right down into London.”
"That?" Gus snorted. “Why that ain’t nothin’ more’n a fair-sized crick.” Nevertheless he banked and followed the course of the winding stream. “Must be it,” he admitted a moment later. “Sure is disappointing. Always thought the Thames was a river. That cloud of smoke ahead is likely London. What’s this here place we’re passing now?”
“Windsor Castle,” Peter announced, consulting the map again, “where the Royal Family lives part of the time.”