Don Hale with the Flying Squadron Page 8

  CHAPTER VII--THE VRILLE

  Uttering a half-inarticulate cry, the pilot of number thirty-five made asupreme effort to avert a catastrophe.

  But, even as he did so, he realized, with a sickening sensation ofterror, that it would be futile--that nothing he could do would be ofthe slightest avail. With eyes staring wildly, he had a quick vision ofnumber twelve, as though its sole purpose on earth was to run him down,fairly hurling itself upon him.

  Don Hale gave a loud yell, though the roar of the motor drowned thesound. In a wild panic, he attempted to rise. But the restraining strapjerked him back to his seat. Then he saw the frightened face of DublinDan right before his eyes.

  And that was the last thing they took in for a moment. He found himselfjerked high in the air, then hurled violently forward.

  The next instant his head struck the ground with heavy force. A lightseemed to flash before his eyes, and, with the dull consciousness thatwas still left to him, he heard supports, struts and planes of bothmachines smashing under the heavy blow. Blackness followed.

  And then came a moment when he was neither quite conscious of where hewas or what had happened. And when he presently opened his eyes it waswith the feelings of one who has just awakened from a troubled, uneasyslumber. The sound of excited voices was ringing in his ears; he heardGeorge Glenn loudly calling his name, but he neither answered norstirred.

  The latter was, of course, impossible. He was pinned to the earth onevery side by the debris of the "penguin."

  As the boy's faculties began to reassert themselves a shudder ranthrough his frame, and, for the first time, he became conscious of thefact that every joint, every portion of his body was racked withshooting pains. Had he been seriously injured? In his apprehension, hebegan to aid the rescuers in their efforts to release both him andDublin Dan.

  The vigorous workers soon completed their task, and Don felt strong armson either side dragging him to his feet. Some one was feeling his pulse;some one was feeling his joints; and some one laid a hand across hisbrow.

  "Badly shaken up; suffering from shock; not much injured, though," heheard a voice exclaim.

  An instant before Don Hale's vision had seemed blurred--hisconsciousness strangely dulled, but, somehow or other, the words"suffering from shock" seemed to revive him in an astonishing degree.

  "'Suffering from shock!' Well, who wouldn't be?" he blurted out, almostangrily. He gently pushed aside the supporting hands. "I reckon,fellows, I don't need any props to support me. But say, how is DublinDan?"

  The young Irishman, surrounded by a crowd, was lying in a half-recliningposition upon the turf, his usually florid face pale and drawn. But asDon's query reached his ears he began to struggle up. It was a mightyhard effort, however, bringing many an exclamation of pain from hislips.

  "Dublin Dan's all right!" he exclaimed, in a voice quite unlike his own."But don't let me hear any one say I'm suffering from shock, or I'llpaste 'em. Hey, boy, why didn't you get out of my way?"

  "A comet couldn't have gotten out of your way," retorted Don, smilingfaintly. "But why did you try to butt me off the earth?"

  "I didn't do it. It was the 'penguin,'" said Dan. "I think I must havehurt the old bird's feelings by running over a bad place in the ground;or else it got tired of life and decided to quit. And that's where itisn't like the Hagens. What train are you going home on to-night?"

  "I'll have to get a few more caressing touches from the earth before Ido that," said Don.

  The boy was feeling very shaky; his strength seemed to have so fardeserted him that it was with difficulty that he managed to stand erect.The pains and aches he was experiencing were so great as to still makehim wonder if, after all, he had not sustained some injury which mightkeep him out of the game for days--that was the only thought botheringhim now. Yet he was deeply thankful that the terrific smash-up had hadno worse consequences.

  Although it was a very important matter to the two principals, theincident was so trivial in the eyes of the older students of the flyingfield that as soon as it was discovered that neither of the boys wasseriously injured they began to retrace their steps.

  The moniteur rather sternly demanded from Dan Hagen an explanation ofthe cause of the mishap.

  "Tell him there isn't any explanation," said Dan, when Don hadtranslated the instructor's remarks. "It just happened--that's all. Ireckon one of the great joys in this game is that it keeps a chap soperpetually thankful that he's still alive that it makes up foreverything else. Say, Don, where do you feel the worst?"

  "All over," replied Don.

  "Hadn't both of you better get back to the barracks?" asked GeorgeGlenn, solicitously.

  Don almost indignantly declined the suggestion.

  "No, indeed!" he declared. "I'm going to hang around here and watch theother smash-ups."

  "And I'm not suffering from shock so much that I can't do the same,"said Dan, with a grin.

  Both Don and Dan soon found, however, that they had been too much shakenup to enter very thoroughly into the spirit of the occasion.Nevertheless, they were of that age when the very idea of retiring fromthe field would have seemed like a deplorable surrender; so theyremained until the majority of the pilots began their homeward march.

  The boys were glad indeed to reach the Hotel d'Amerique. They removedthe dirt and dust from their clothing and enjoyed a refreshing wash; andtheir feelings were then so far improved that each readily agreed toaccompany the crowd, after supper, to Etainville and the club.

  Thus the end of Don's second day was passed very much as the first. Theyfound Pere Goubain, as usual, bubbling over with good-nature, andlistened to the bits of philosophy which he expounded and to his talesof spies with the same interest as on the night before.

  But there was something else which made their visit to the CafeRochambeau far more memorable than they had expected. While the rattleof tongues was in progress every one became aware of the fact thatsomething was going on in the village street. The air was filled withthe sounds of wheels jarring and rumbling over the cobbled highway, thesteady tramping of horses' hoofs and the voices of men.

  Don and George were the first to rush outside. And what they saw gavethem a thrill of pleasure and of exultation.

  Yes, yes! The Yanks were not only coming but they had come.Actually!--an American battery was making its way over the lone streettoward the front.

  It was certainly a warlike scene over which the magic rays of thebrilliant moon were playing. At the head of the procession rode thecaptain, mounted on a big bay horse. Close behind him followed thebattery standard bearer carrying the red guidon, which lazily swayed toand fro. Silent and grim, the two horsemen suggested knights of oldgoing forth to battle. Gun carriages and caissons drawn by long teams ofmettlesome horses rattled and banged steadily past.

  Now and again glinting lights flashed from horses' trappings, or fromthe sinister, wicked-looking guns.

  Often, from the wooden-shoed inhabitants of the village--men, women andchildren, who had flocked out into the street to view the interestingspectacle, there came the cries of, "Vive l'Amerique!" And to thesesalutations officers, cannoneers and postilion drivers sometimesresponded with a "Vive la France!"

  "What a glorious sight!" exclaimed Pere Goubain, who, having managed tolift his ponderous frame from the rocking-chair, had joined theAmericans outside.

  "I reckon the Germans might as well fire all their spies and give themrespectable jobs--eh, Pere Goubain?" laughed Peur Jamais.

  The old innkeeper shook his head.

  "As long as there are Germans there will be spies," he said, solemnly.

  The crowd waited outside until the last gun carriage had become lost toview and only the faint sound of horses' hoofs and grinding wheels cameover the silent air.

  Then, as the hour was getting late, the boys bade good-bye to PereGoubain and began their tramp toward the barracks.

  Arriving at the aviation field, the students witnessed a spectaclewhich,
to Don and Dublin Dan at least, possessed a singular interest andnovelty. It was a dance executed by Annamites and dark-skinned ArabianZouaves before several huge bonfires built in front of their quarters.With the firelight playing over the forms of the fantastically-movingdancers and the weird, monotonous notes of the native music, the scenewas suggestive of some far-off, uncivilized quarter of the globe.

  "Those chaps are certainly working hard for their fun," remarked DanHagen.

  "Wait till you see them get to fighting, which they sometimes do,"laughed Cal Cummings.

  "Excuse me the night the scrap comes off," chirped Don. "A little ofthat sort of thing is much too much."

  "Like our smash-up to-day!" chuckled Dublin Dan.

  All the boys were pretty tired when they reached the barracks; fortraining in the flying school often produces a strain on the nerves morefatiguing than hard work. No time, therefore, was lost in turning in.

  But Don Hale passed a most uncomfortable and restless night. The painsand aches, partially forgotten while in the midst of lively scenes, nowbecame violent enough to prevent the boy from falling into the slumberwhich nature craved--in fact he had not slept at all when, after whatseemed to be an interminable length of time, the clear, musical notes ofthe bugle, sounding the reveille, broke in upon his ears.

  It was a relief. But, at the same time, Don, blinking-eyed and yawning,scarcely felt in the mood to enjoy the work as he had done on the daybefore. Out in the open air, however, he soon felt more like himself,and his natural enthusiasm soon overcame all bodily fatigue.

  The new _eleve_ imagined that he had conquered the "penguin," but theresult of the day's performance, to his great surprise, and equallygreat disgust, showed him that this was merely an illusion. Both he andDublin Dan figured in several mishaps, the most serious of which causedDan's "penguin" to be towed to the repair shop. Both boys, too, receiveda varied assortment of bruises. And at night, when summing up the resultof the work, Don grimly declared that it certainly was the end of animperfect day.

  A week passed, and then another, with Don and Dan still struggling toobtain a complete mastery over the unruly "birds." There were severalinterruptions in the work due to thunder-storms. And after the artilleryof the clouds had ceased the rain continued for hours. On such occasionsthe students amused themselves by getting up impromptu concerts; andsometimes, while the wind and rain beat relentlessly against the Hoteld'Amerique, the notes of such pleasing compositions as Schumann's"Traumerei," Schubert's "Am Meer" and Mendelssohn's "Spring Song,"played on the piano by a former motion picture artist, mingled with theominous blasts outside.

  On certain days lectures were given; the students were taught thetheories of aeronautics and the design and construction of various typesof flying machines. They were obliged, too, to take motors apart and putthem together again. Then, there were courses in map reading--a veryimportant subject indeed for the aviators must learn to keep track oftheir aerial travels by such means.

  About the middle of the third week Don and Dan were delighted to beinformed by the instructor that their progress had been sufficient toentitle them to enter the second class. This did not mean that they wereto be allowed to fly. It did mean, however, that they became pilots ofreal airplanes, though it was not possible to turn on sufficient powerfor the motors to take the machine off the ground.

  The boys found the sensation very different from that experienced whiletrying to tame the "penguins." There was a delightful lightness andbuoyancy about these monoplanes, as they skimmed over the ground,exhilarating in the highest degree. They continually seemed about todefy the limitations set upon them and leave the terrestrial globe forthe firmament above.

  And during all the time that Don and Dan were wrestling with the newproblems, T. Singleton Albert, the former drugstore clerk of Syracuse,was making the most astonishing progress. Many in the beginning had beenaccustomed to laugh at the thought of the pale, anemic-looking chap everattaining his ambition of becoming an airman, but, as Peur Jamais putit, he was "leaving every one of them far behind."

  One evening, when the sun had long disappeared beneath the horizon andthe advance-guards of approaching dusk were drawing a veil over thedistance and little by little driving the color from objects near athand, a crowd of boys of the first and second classes journeyed to thethird flying field to watch the machines circling around in the sky.

  "Won't I be glad when I get to the real work!" sighed Don.

  Dave Cornwells, who was standing by, remarked:

  "Boys, do you see that highest machine? Well, the pilot is a certaindaring young aviator named T. Singleton Albert."

  "Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Dan Hagen. "Why, that chap is certainly abird!"

  "You've said something," drawled Roy Mittengale. "And he'll never besatisfied until he gets so high that the earth looks like a rubber ballto him."

  As the shadows slowly deepened over the earth the flyers, one by one,returned to the _grande piste_.

  There still remained one airplane high aloft--so insignificant in thevast field of graying sky that it seemed to lose all resemblance to aflying machine and become but a tiny, shapeless speck, so faint at timesthat the naked eye could no longer follow its varied evolutions. Andevery one on the _grande piste_ seemed to know to whom that machinebelonged--it was Albert's.

  "My, shan't I be glad when I get into his class!" commented Don Hale,whose face was turned toward the sky.

  And then, all of a sudden, he gave voice to a loud exclamation. Othersdid the same; for the faint speck in the sky had suddenly begun tobehave in the most extraordinary fashion. First it dove, then soaredupward again, not in the orderly fashion which one might expect of amachine piloted by a skilled aviator, but in a way which suggested thatsomething was amiss.

  And this impression was strengthened a few moments later when themachine began to volplane at terrific speed, at the same time swingingaround and around as though on a pivot.

  "The vrille![4] The vrille!" came from dozens of excited students.

  "The vrille!" echoed Don Hale, huskily.

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  Footnote 4:

  "Vrille"--French for "falling leaf."